Just Easier Than Dealing with the Pain
by Syntyche
Summary: Obi-Wan is struggling through a difficult time, but should he ask for help, or can he deal with it alone?
1. Prologue & Chapter One

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

Rated: PG-13

Constructive and/or kind reviews and comments will be appreciated, loved, and cherished. :)

_The title is from Soul Asylum's "Runaway Train," if you like music with your fic. _

* * *

Prologue

Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi offered his departing Master a rare, brilliant smile.

"I wish you well on your journey, Master," he said formally. "May the Force be with you."

Qui-Gon Jinn settled his robe over his broad shoulders, and smoothed out the hair he had carefully bound away from his face. "And with you, my Padawan. I will be in touch when breaks in the celebration allow. Should you need anything while I'm gone, Master Billaba has offered to help in any way she can."

Obi-Wan's forehead creased in mild annoyance. He _was_ nearly twenty-one years old – a bit too old to need a crèche Master. "I have the feeling Master Billaba would be willing to do anything you asked, Master," he said pointedly, arching an eyebrow at his Master.

Qui-Gon glanced at him sharply, but he was used to his apprentice's sarcasm and ignored it. "You would do well to study up on the trade regulations of Drymar III, Padawan – we will be leaving for there shortly after my return from Corellia."

Obi-Wan nodded obediently. "Yes, Master."

A beep from Qui-Gon's comlink announced the readiness of his ship for departure. He gave his apprentice's shoulder a light squeeze. "I'll be back in two weeks, Obi-Wan. Please take care of yourself." He was somewhat surprised when Obi-Wan stepped backward out of his reach, but the small smile he received from his apprentice was genuine.

"Yes, Master. And you be careful, as well."

The Jedi Master's mouth twisted in a wry grimace as he palmed open the door to their apartment. "Thank you, Padawan, but I doubt there will be much danger involved in attending an old friend's wedding."

He just caught Obi-Wan's patient sigh as he headed out the door. "Yes, Master, but as I recall, the _last time_ you attended a Corellian wedding with a week long celebration afterward, it took quite some time for you to get back to your normal, er, _sober_ self … "

"Goodbye, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said dryly, as the door closed firmly behind him.

* * *

Chapter One

* * *

Obi-Wan's eyes closed tiredly, and he curled himself into as tight a ball as possible. His compact body then occupied only half of the living room sofa, and probably less if he had bothered to pull off his boots. With the hand that wasn't trapped under him, he grasped the corner of his robe and pulled it around him as closely as possible.

Qui-Gon would be home soon. Perhaps it was finally time to ask for help. He hadn't realized how much he relied on his Master's presence until it was absent from his daily routine.

Yes. Qui-Gon would help him.

*

It had started a few months ago with the dreams. Disjointed, confusing night terrors that made anything more than a few hours of restless sleep impossible and leaving him tired and drained in the morning.

His fatigue carried over into everything he did and his concentration began to crumble. Sparring matches with his peers in which he used to be able to hold his own suddenly went to his opponent with little effort on their part at all. Sparring against any of the Masters – including his own – was a disaster.

He did his best to keep up with his personal studies, but more often than not he fell asleep with his head bowed over the reader, making little, if any, progress at all, and was jostled awake too soon when the dreams would start again. His eating habits dwindled to one small meal a day, the evening meal he customarily shared with his Master.

Worst of all, his utter exhaustion allowed doubts and fears he usually managed to keep at bay creep out and viciously attack the tired mind trapped in his slowly weakening body. Insecurity preyed on him, wreaking havoc on his emotion and tainting nearly all his thoughts with uncertainty in himself, his Master, his training, knowledge, discipline – everything he'd ever believed in, especially about himself, was now questioned and re-questioned self-deprecatingly and shoved aside into a tight ball of pain when his mind answered with replies he didn't want to believe. Only a tiny corner of resistance in his mind had kept him going on from day to day and not curled up defensively under the blankets of his sleep couch, hiding from the world and his doubts.

*

But he was even beyond that now. Here he was, coiled on the sofa, trying to hide from the mocking voices in his head and the galaxy in general. Despite his lapses and frustration, he had striven to keep his feelings and misgivings from his Master as much as possible. Perhaps it was time he approached Qui-Gon.

_A fine Jedi you are, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You really think your Master will want to help you if you can't even help yourself?_

"Shut up," Obi-Wan muttered miserably to the empty room, drawing his knees up further, if that was possible, and pulling the edge of his robe over his face so the only part of his body left visible was one blue-grey iris. Of course Qui-Gon would help him.

_Like he needs something else to bother with. Especially you, his worthless apprentice._

Obi-Wan sighed. That much was true. So the young Jedi silently agreed and decided to continue on alone. His wearied mind went on to add most sensibly that the last thing Qui-Gon Jinn needed was to see what a failure and a basket case his apprentice really was, and Obi-Wan Kenobi had no intention of showing him that … especially when the voice reminded him that Qui-Gon hadn't ever really wanted him at all.

* * *

Qui-Gon was still away. Obi-Wan exhaled a quiet breath, trying to center himself on his reading, and bent back over his study of the Trade Regulations of Drymar IV. Qui-Gon would want a rehash of what Obi-Wan had learned that they could utilize when they embarked for the distant planet upon Qui-Gon's return.

It wasn't long, however, before Obi-Wan's thoughts began to wander, touching upon nothing in particular, but disrupting his concentration. He frowned, struggling to bring his focus back under control. Qui-Gon would not be pleased if his useless apprentice couldn't provide the information he would need to help settle the Drymarian's trade disputes.

But when he realized he'd read the same paragraph three times over and remembered nothing of it, Obi-Wan finally pushed the reader away in frustration and stood, snatching his lightsaber from its place by the door. Maybe a few rounds with a training droid would wear him down enough to quiet his mind.

_end chapter one_


	2. Chapter Two

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Two

* * *

Obi-Wan slowly dragged himself into the rooms he shared with his Master. Bruised and sore from his latest sparring practice but blessedly tired, he dumped the several readers he'd collected from the Temple library into an abnormally untidy heap on the tabletop. He paused only to collect the topmost reader from the stack before heading for his room; Obi-Wan tossed the reader onto his desk with a clatter, but hung his lightsaber and robe with his usual care.

Obi-Wan stripped off his boots and workout tunic, uncaring of where they landed, collected clean clothing, and stumbled off to the fresher.

* * *

_Ah, home, finally._

It wasn't that Qui-Gon Jinn hadn't enjoyed seeing his longtime friend Aerin again, or attending Aerin's wedding, for he quite had – perhaps a little _too_ much, he admitted ruefully, gingerly massaging the slight headache that remained. He had not counted on taking an extra week to recover from the massive hangover he'd endured from the all the ceremonial toasting Corellians were wont to take part in, but as it had been quite a long time since he'd taken any semblance of a "vacation," he felt completely justified in taking the additional time off.

He lifted a hand to the touchpad by the door, glad to be home to the familiar after a three-week absence.

The instant he stepped inside, however, Qui-Gon realized something was out of place.

Not _wrong_, exactly, but there was a discordant hum in the air, a buzzing of not-quite-rightness that permeated the empty space. The Jedi Master's eyebrows knotted in puzzlement as he surveyed the rooms he and his Padawan shared, trying to trace the hum to its source – and to locate his absent apprentice.

"Obi-Wan?"

There was no affirming answer, either vocally or over the mental bond they shared. With sudden comprehension, Qui-Gon realized that he could hardly sense his apprentice at all. He'd not considered it much during his time off-planet, being so far away from Obi-Wan, but now that he was near his Apprentice again, he ought to have been able to sense him. Qui-Gon realized this, and it worried him. His Padawan meant more to him than life itself, and if something had happened to him while the Jedi Master was away...

"_Obi-Wan?_"

He carefully followed the tenuous thread of their link to his Padawan's room. The door was ajar and the light on, so Qui-Gon stepped around to peer inside.

Obi-Wan was slumped over the desk, but Qui-Gon relaxed as he realized the young man's breathing was deep and even. Obi-Wan was asleep. His arms were crossed over a data reader he'd evidently been studying, and his ginger hair stuck up in erratic, damp spikes. Qui-Gon couldn't help but smile. He closed his eyes and gently touched the weakened tendril of their bond, intending to strengthen it …

… And his eyes snapped open as he realized, with a wave of surprise, that the not-quite-rightness was emanating directly from his Padawan.

"Obi-Wan?" He put a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, in his worry shaking him a little harder than necessary to wake him.

"Master … ?" Obi-Wan started groggily, and slowly lifted his head to face Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan's native accent was thick with sleep and surprise. "I – I didn't realize you were due back today. I'm sorry I wasn't there to meet your transport. How was your journey?"

Qui-Gon laughed at the rush of words coming from his obviously fatigued Padawan. "Slow down, my Obi-Wan. 'Hello' would have sufficed to start."

Obi-Wan blushed sheepishly, scrubbing a hand across his bleary eyes. "Yes, Master. Sorry, Master. Your journey?"

"My journey was well, Padawan," Qui-Gon answered briefly, feeling a bit too tired to offer much detail, and not sure how much he actually wanted to share with Obi-Wan. He had little doubt his Padawan would find the story of his weeklong hangover quite humorous, but to be the target of Obi-Wan's rather dry sense of humor for the next few weeks did not bode well with the Jedi Master. "We will discuss it in more detail at a later time."

"Mm? Oh. Yes, Master." Obi-Wan was still ineffectually fighting sleepiness, and his head had dropped back down onto his arms during Qui-Gon's brief pause. "Whenever is convenient for you."

Qui-Gon eyed his apprentice carefully. "Perhaps we should discuss it when it is more convenient for _you_, young one. Is something wrong, Obi-Wan?" he asked quietly, but firmly. "Have you not been getting enough rest, enough to eat? I had hoped you could survive without me for a few weeks," he teased lightly.

To his surprise, Obi-Wan actually scowled at him. "I'm fine, Master, thank you. I _can_ take of myself," he added softly, his eyes dark with an emotion Qui-Gon recognized all too well and was confused to see in his caring and gentle apprentice.

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow, also picking up on the slight frittering of Obi-Wan's rush of insecurity through their bond before the younger Jedi hastily damped it down, weakening the already strained bond. Qui-Gon couldn't help a sigh.

"I'm not so sure," he said honestly, and Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

* * *

end chapter two


	3. Chapter Three

This chapter's a bit short, sorry!

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Three

* * *

Obi-Wan kept to himself as much as possible, but he knew his Master was watching. Many times he thought about asking Qui-Gon for help, but the same voice in his head reminded him that no one could help him anyway, and it was better to pretend everything was fine.

Today he sat by the pond in the meditation garden, trying not to think of anything at all. He and Qui-Gon would be leaving for Drymar III shortly, and there would be no avoiding Qui-Gon during the two-day trip through hyperspace.

Damn.

Obi-Wan's head slumped forward to rest on his upraised knees.

_Pull yourself together, Kenobi. It'll pass soon. No use sulking out here._

No, there really wasn't. Obi-Wan sighed, rose, and with a sad backward glance at the still waters, left the garden.

Obi-Wan could feel his Master's eyes on him, boring into his back, and he bit his lip nervously. _I don't want to talk. I don't want to talk. Please don't make me talk_ was the unconscious mantra running through his head.

He decided it would be much easier if Qui-Gon could simply read his mind - then the Jedi Master would discover what was troubling Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan wouldn't have to listen to the voice tell him not to say anything.

But Obi-Wan hadn't attempted to strengthen their Master/Padawan bond on his end; rather, he'd tightened his shields against his Master, trying to create the surface impression that everything was fine. As long as Qui-Gon didn't push - and Obi-Wan doubted he would just yet, as his recent behavior only fell into the Worrisome category, and not Critical - Obi-Wan knew he was safe.

He performed the next step in the Kata methodically, his body on autopilot while his mind raced, wondering if Qui-Gon intended to speak to him or simply stare. But I could just tell him ... what? _What could you possibly tell him that wouldn't show what a failure you are? _

On the following step, Obi-Wan stumbled. He glanced over at Qui-Gon quickly to see if his Master had noticed. He had.

"Obi-Wan?"

The Padawan swallowed nervously. "Y-yes, Master?" Obi-Wan winced at the tremor in his voice. What was _wrong_ with him, anyway?? He drew himself up stiffly. "Master?"

Qui-Gon's eyes were hard, as if he knew Obi-Wan was keeping something from him, but his voice was gentle when he spoke again. "Padawan, you've been practicing for over two hours." Qui-Gon smiled wryly. "While I appreciate your dedication to your Katas, I would much prefer you showed some of your normal politeness and resigned yourself to the torture of having lunch with me."

Obi-Wan's head lowered at the soft rebuke from his Master. "Yes, Master. I apologize." He glanced at the meal Qui-Gon had laid out on the table with a slight grimace. He wasn't much up to eating. "I'll just wash up first, if I may?"

"Of course, Padawan. Please hurry, though."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan nodded obediently, and hurried to the 'fresher. Quickly, he splashed some water onto his face, doing his best to avoid looking in the mirror over the sink and the stranger in his reflection that stared back at him. Detouring to his cabin to grab a clean tunic, Obi-Wan hastily changed and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, standing the damp spikes on end. There. Presentable. Not much more.

Okay. Obi-Wan squared his shoulders and sighed, wondering briefly why the thought of sitting down with his Master bothered him so, but the answer came easily enough.

It had been nearly a month since he'd last talked with Qui-Gon. He knew his despair had gotten steadily worse since then; chances were, he would slip up in front of his Master, when he so desperately needed to be strong and stand on his own.

His calm, completely controlled, I-can-handle-anything Master, who probably never despaired of anything and slept peacefully every night, content in the knowledge he had succeeded to the best of his tremendous abilities. His Master, who probably never needed reassurance from anyone.

Obi-Wan felt stupid. Depression and despair were just feelings, right? So they should go away, right?

Right. And if he couldn't make it go away on his own, then he truly was a clumsy Oafy-Wan who didn't deserve to even make it this far under Qui-Gon's tutelage.

Oh, Force. Obi-Wan sagged against the cabin wall and dropped his head into his hands. How was he going get through lunch with Qui-Gon?

_end chapter three_

Okay, I did _not_ make up the nickname Oafy-Wan, it's from the Jedi Apprentice series. Just so you know.


	4. Chapter Four

Another semi-short one, and this one's not very good, I'm afraid. I may come back and edit it later, but I'll post a note if I do. :-) Thank you so much everyone who has reviewed, and continues to review, this story – were it not for the deluge of warm reviews I've already received, I doubt very much this story would be updated more than once a week, possibly less You all have given me the encouragement to continue. Thank you so very much!

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Four

* * *

Qui-Gon Jinn emerged from the 'fresher, showered, impeccably groomed, and ready to start the day at an hour his apprentice tended to refer to as '_absolutely_ _unreasonable_, Master!' He yet needed to run through his morning stretches and meditation, but he paused for moment at the door to Obi-Wan's cabin.

Letting himself into the darkened room, Qui-Gon didn't need to wait for his eyes to adjust, instead using the Force to heighten his senses and guide him to his apprentice's sleep couch.

Hmm. It appeared his apprentice had mutated into a cocoon of some sort during the night. Qui-Gon scaled the lights up to dim and studied the inert form of his Padawan. Normally, Obi-Wan slept with arms and legs sprawled and the blanket twisted somewhere about his waist. This morning he was barely visible beneath the warm russet coverlet; one closed eyelid, fringed with thick, light-colored lashes, and a bit of forehead was all Qui-Gon could see.

The Jedi Master released a sigh and probed gently at the Force signature of his Padawan. Threads of exhaustion ran in fine lines through Obi-Wan's shielding, but Qui-Gon was unable to sense more than that without prying past the barriers Obi-Wan had erected.

Qui-Gon still hoped that Obi-Wan would come to him with whatever was troubling him, but he also knew he couldn't wait much longer for Obi-Wan to take the initiative. His Padawan's recent behavior was worrisome to the Jedi Master.

Qui-Gon eyed the still form, and his shoulders drooped a fraction. He'd tried talking with his Padawan yesterday at lunch, with dismal results …

*

Were he not a patient man, highly skilled in the Force, and a trained negotiator … Qui-Gon Jinn would be fidgeting. As it was, his fingers twitched slightly on the tabletop.

_Anytime now, Obi-Wan … _

On cue, Obi-Wan hurried into the room, looking, well, cleaner perhaps than when he'd exited, but no less agitated. "Padawan," Qui-Gon began.

"This looks wonderful, Master," Obi-Wan interrupted with a tight smile as he took his seat across from Qui-Gon.

"Thank you, Padawan," Qui-Gon said mildly, noting his Padawan's uncharacteristic interruption and moving ahead, "Obi-Wan – "

"I don't think I've had this much food set in front of me since before you left for Corellia, Master – though Master Depa certainly brought meals quite often."

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed. He'd discovered the overflowing dishes of food his Padawan had stashed in the cooling unit during his absence the first time he'd gone to the cupboard to retrieve a teacup and found the majority of their plates, pots, and pans missing. "But Obi-Wan, we need to talk – "

Obi-Wan suddenly busied himself with digging into his meal. "Of course, Master; I've been waiting to hear about your trip – "

Exasperated with the continued interruptions, Qui-Gon finally exploded, "Obi-Wan!"

Obi-Wan froze in mid-bite, fork halted at his lips. "M-Master?"

"Padawan." Qui-Gon worked to tamp down his irritation, unsure of whether to be concerned about his apprentice or merely annoyed. "Is something bothering you, Obi-Wan?" he finally asked.

Obi-Wan's smile wobbled. "No, Master."

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said sternly.

Obi-Wan blanched. He should have known better than to keep interrupting Qui-Gon, but his mouth was running on hyper while his brain slogged along at sublight. _Oh, Sith. Make something up!_

What? He was telling himself to lie to Qui-Gon??

_Fine. Show him what a failure you are. _

Obi-Wan's head dropped in defeat. "No, Master," he sighed softly. "I apologize for my rudeness." His eyes glanced to the floor and back up, and for a moment he looked like he might have said more, but his face closed over in an expression of resignation.

Disappointment clouded Qui-Gon's strong features and Obi-Wan felt it keenly, but all the Jedi Master said was, "Very well, Padawan."

Conversation ceased after that, so in a way Obi-Wan got what he had wanted, though he couldn't help feeling guilty and more than a little frustrated for disappointing Qui-Gon yet again. He hadn't had an appetite when he'd sat down at the table, and that certainly hadn't changed after his aborted conversation with his Master. Obi-Wan pushed his food around enough that it looked like he'd actually eaten some of it, and then politely requested to be excused.

Qui-Gon nodded and watched him leave. He decided to give his Padawan some space yet a little while longer, to see if he could work out whatever was troubling him on his own while Qui-Gon was occupied with the trade disputes.

He didn't see Obi-Wan for the rest of the day, but far into the night he'd felt the Force around Obi-Wan rippling and humming as the young man strove to exhaust himself enough to sleep.

*

Qui-Gon decided that that it was probably best not to let Obi-Wan sleep in this morning, despite the late hours the Padawan had kept last night. There was still much to be done before they landed on Drymar III.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon shook his Padawan's shoulder gently. "Come on, Sunshine, it's time to get up," he said lightly.

Obi-Wan muttered something incoherent, his visible eye squeezing shut and his forehead creasing. His breathed slowed as he tried to return to sleep.

"Padawan." Qui-Gon tugged on the blanket obscuring Obi-Wan's head and a bleary blue-grey blinked and stared up at him muzzily. A thickly mumbled protest reached Qui-Gon's ears.

"Stll drk otsde, Mstr!"

"It's always dark in space, Padawan," Qui-Gon said shortly, but with a small grin. "Up, Obi-Wan," he ordered, injecting a note of sternness into his voice. "We have much to do."

"Ys, Mstr," the blanket sighed. Satisfied his Padawan would shortly be ready to face the day, Qui-Gon returned to his own quarters to prepare for his meditations.

They would be on Drymar within the day, and perhaps the change of scenery and routine of their mission would do Obi-Wan good.

Something would have to be done about his Padawan, Qui-Gon knew; but if Obi-Wan refused to come to him or show him how he could help, what could he do?

_end chapter four_


	5. Chapter Five

Apologies for the long delay – the joys of college! If I have to see another exam, I'll scream. :) Your reviews are so very encouraging. Thank you.

WARNING: This chapter is rated R (just to stay on the safe side)

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Five

* * *

Obi-Wan hunched over the reader, trying vainly to look like he was concentrating on the information the screen displayed. His tired body sagged in the hard chair; it was no use. The words simply weren't registering enough to make sense.

He was buried in his misery, he wished he were sitting by the meditation pond at the Temple, and he tried not to think of how disappointed Qui-Gon would be when he discovered Obi-Wan failed to remember the information they needed. As an afterthought, Obi-Wan downloaded the files he had been looking at onto a handheld reader he could carry with him. It would cause unnecessary delay in acquiring the information, but, Obi-Wan's mouth twisted sardonically, it was better than screwing up entirely and not having anything to contribute at all.

He was still trying to ignore the memory of his failures at lunch yesterday. _Thunk._ Obi-Wan thumped his forehead against the top of the raised computer monitor. _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._ _Idiot. Idiot. Idiot!_ His Master _must not_ know! He _couldn't._

Obi-Wan knew he couldn't go on much longer. His insecurity ate him alive as rapidly as despair overtook his soul. He was sure he must be going mad.

Was there no way to end this insanity?

* * *

"Padawan?"

The Force around Obi-Wan was buzzing again, and to Qui-Gon's unhappy regret, his Padawan had damped down their bond so much that the Jedi Master was unable to sense it until he laid a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder to shake him awake.

Obi-Wan's eyes snapped open, and Qui-Gon took an involuntary mental step back at the blank look of horror in the blue-grey irises. Obi-Wan was very still for a moment before the horror in his eyes faded and he carefully lifted his head from the desk and offered Qui-Gon a wan smile.

Qui-Gon might have grinned at the way his Padawan's spiky hair had flattened on one side while he had slept, but concern for Obi-Wan quickly overrode any humor he might have felt at the younger man's expense. "Padawan, this falling asleep at your desk is becoming a bad habit that I want you to avoid from now on. Know your body's limitations," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said softly, calm control bleeding slowly back into his eyes and expression. He absently rubbed at his eyes with a fist and was quick to change the subject. "ETA?"

"Twenty minutes," Qui-Gon supplied with a frown. "Obi-Wan … " He began and hesitated, again unsure of how to approach his Padawan. He fumbled over words for a moment, and in his frustration damning his reserved nature that prevented him from reaching out to Obi-Wan. He finally settled for an awkward grasp of Obi-Wan's shoulder.

The corner of Obi-Wan's mouth tilted up in a tired half-smile, but Qui-Gon could see a slight tinge of bitterness behind it … and that _look_ he'd first seen when he'd returned from Corellia and found Obi-Wan asleep at his desk.

Qui-Gon's heart lurched. Something had to be done. These negotiations were important, but Obi-Wan was more so at the moment. He could do this. He would do this for Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon swallowed hard and, drawing a deep breath, knelt down so he was at eye level with Obi-Wan. His large hands came out to rest on either of his Padawan's shoulders. Obi-Wan's fatigue-dulled eyes met his with a start of surprise, and he eyed Qui-Gon warily as the Jedi Master opened his mouth to speak. "Obi-Wan, listen to me," Qui-Gon said sternly, his gaze boring into his Padawan. "I won't have much time to speak with you once the negotiations begin, but I'm here now. Is there something you want to talk about?"

He saw a hopeful look flash quickly across Obi-Wan's face, but it disappeared just as quickly as it'd been there. His forced grin, apparently intended to pacify his Master, only made Qui-Gon worry more.

"No," Obi-Wan said stiffly. "Everything's fine."

* * *

The city where the negotiations were to be held – the name of which, Qui-Gon found to his irritation, Obi-Wan had forgotten – reminded the Jedi Master a bit of Coruscant, with its' raised docking platforms high above the surface. The similarities ended there, however; unlike the city-planet Coruscant, Drymar III was pleasant to look upon with its neat cities and lush greenery. The capital city was no exception, and Qui-Gon had the stray hope that the fresh air and cleanliness would do his Padawan some good.

"Ambassador Jinn." A Drymarian with an impossibly large smile beamed at the Jedi as they exited the boarding ramp. His Basic was only slightly accented by a native warble, and his feathered head bobbed up and down as he spoke. "Ambassador Kenobi. I'm Ruthom Looke, Advisor to President Talum."

Qui-Gon nodded in acknowledgement, giving a respectful bow. Obi-Wan did the same. "Advisor Looke."

"We are most grateful for your assistance, Ambassadors," Looke said cheerfully, "As you are well aware, the trade routes of Drymar III are among the busiest in this sector – it would certainly be a terrible thing if they were to be shut down by the Akraknians. Follow me, please." Advisor Looke gestured to an enclosed walkway leading from the docking bay and, with a quick backward glance to make sure the Jedi hadn't suddenly disappeared somehow, began walking quickly towards it.

Qui-Gon smiled slightly and fell into step beside Looke. The Drymarian was very short, just reaching the middle of Obi-Wan's chest, and the Jedi Master towered over him. Obi-Wan followed silently, taking in the layout of the city below and staying alert for any signs of danger.

Looke was talking excitedly. "I'm sure you're exhausted from your long journey. Negotiations are scheduled to begin tomorrow morning – but if that's too soon for you, Ambassadors, I'm sure we can arrange – "

"Tomorrow is acceptable," Qui-Gon said gently, and the Drymarian sighed in obvious relief.

"Ah, yes, good. I will show you to your accommodations, then, and will you be sufficiently refreshed to join President Talum for evening meal?" A hopeful note shone through the alien's voice.

"Yes, I believe so."

"Very good, very good!" The little Drymarian continued to chatter as he led them across the walkway. Finally, he halted at a door and swiped an iden-card through the scanner on the wall. Then he took them through a short hallway, and finally up a flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs he paused, handing iden-cards to both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.

"This will be your room for the duration of your stay here." His dark feathers rippled with excitement. "I will comm you when it time to prepare for dinner."

"Thank you," Qui-Gon replied. Looke showed him how the door scanner worked, and gave them a brief tour of the large, well-furnished apartment. When the door had finally closed on the talkative alien, Qui-Gon gave a sigh of relief and turned to his silent Padawan.

"Well, Obi-Wan," he said lightly, "do you have a bad feeling about this, or are we all right so far?"

"All right so far," Obi-Wan answered in clipped tones. His eyes were darting around the room, taking in the various pieces of artwork and plush furniture. He plunked his satchel onto one of the couches and immediately dropped down next to it, closing his eyes and bringing one hand up to massage at his forehead. His demeanor warned off any further inquiries, and Qui-Gon sighed. Perhaps he should speak with Master Yoda about Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon was often at odds with his former Master, but the wizened Jedi had known both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan from their childhoods, and indeed had had a hand in their respective training. Perhaps the old Jedi could offer Qui-Gon advice where his own pitiful attempts at resolution had failed.

Qui-Gon heard Obi-Wan's breathing slow but he knew the younger man was awake. He hesitantly touched their bond again, but found it still weak. Qui-Gon's lips tightened. It would be difficult to admit his failure with his Padawan to Yoda, but what alternative did he have? Obi-Wan wouldn't talk to him …

Qui-Gon hated feeling so helpless, but he would swallow his pride and contact Yoda tonight after dinner. Obi-Wan needed help.

* * *

Qui-Gon found the evening meal with President Talum and his family quite pleasant and a brief distraction from his earlier worries. It had been some time since he had been around small children, but the President's boisterous young triplets bolstered his spirits and calmed his soul. The Living Force flowed strongly as an undercurrent to the love shared by the family.

However, Qui-Gon noted, the somewhat noisy children seemed to be having the opposite effect on his Padawan. Obi-Wan's brow had been permanently furrowed for the evening, and his mouth was pressed in that tight line that told Qui-Gon they had better take their leave soon. He was sorry to go, but he could feel a small wave of Obi-Wan's relief as they rose to depart.

As they walked back to their apartment, Qui-Gon decided to take one last stab at reaching out to his apprentice before bringing the matter to Yoda.

"Are you all right, Obi-Wan?"

"I'm fine, Master, thank you." Obi-Wan hesitated. "Just a slight headache."

"I'll get you some meds," Qui-Gon offered, "And then I want you to go to bed."

Obi-Wan looked annoyed. "I can handle it."

"Of course you can," Qui-Gon replied, "but we have much to do tomorrow, and I'll need you at your best."

Obi-Wan's face darkened and Qui-Gon sighed. _Give him space_. _He needs a little room_. _Go for neutral territory._

"Obi-Wan, can you explain the Akraknians' case against the shipping lanes? I'm afraid I didn't have much time to read the reports."

His Padawan's face went blank for a moment, and then Obi-Wan said slowly, "I'll have to get the data reader from my satchel."

"What?" Qui-Gon was surprised. Obi-Wan had always kept up on the reading assignments Qui-Gon gave him; it made Qui-Gon job much easier to have his skilled Padawan ready at a moment's notice with the minor details that could swing the negotiations in the right direction. "Did you not read the material I requested, Padawan?"

"I did," Obi-Wan said shortly, not looking at his Master.

"And you can't tell me what the Akraknians want?" Qui-Gon asked carefully.

"I can't remember," Obi-Wan shot back angrily, his body stiffening and his narrowed gaze focusing on Qui-Gon.

"Don't be belligerent, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said severely.

Obi-Wan's face flushed and his eyes dropped immediately, any signs of fight leeching from his stance as his shoulders slumped. "I apologize, Master," he said quietly.

Qui-Gon was tempted to reach out to the young man once more, but he refrained, tired of being rejected in his attempts. It was quite ironic. Here he was, one of the Temple's finest negotiators, preparing to settle a dispute that could have consequences on not only this sector, but the surrounding ones as well, and he couldn't even communicate with his Padawan.

He had been told before leaving the Temple that these negotiations must be successful and the shipping lanes must stay open. There was no room for failure; therefore, he would not fail.

Qui-Gon paused to run his iden-card through the scanner by their door, and glanced at Obi-Wan as he waited for confirmation.

He would not fail Obi-Wan, either.

* * *

_Damn. Damn, damn, damn!!_

How could he have messed up _again??_ The crimson flush still stained his cheeks – he couldn't believe he'd snapped at Qui-Gon, no matter how briefly. And to be chastised for belligerence like a _child_…

The meds hadn't helped his headache, and it beat against his temples and swelled as his anger at himself increased.

_Damn it!_ Obi-Wan's hand shot up and a glass vase at the far end of the room flew off its pedestal and impacted against the far wall, shattering into pieces that rained onto the floor. He was instantly mortified.

_Anger. Control your anger!_ he reminded himself as he hurried to clean up the mess he'd created. Obi-Wan plucked the largest shards from the carpet, grateful that his Master was showering in the 'fresher and wouldn't have heard the noise of the glass striking the wall.

The voice in his head was coming back, and Obi-Wan quickly dumped the glass into the recycler. He had to get away, if just for a minute. He'd been lacking the peace of the meditation pond or the Room of a Thousand Fountains, but he'd kept a sharp eye out during the walk from the docking bay to the Presidential Rooms. He would find a place he could have some peace. His Master would soon see the slivers of glass on the carpet, and Obi-Wan was simply too tired, and his mind running too fast, to be confronted over his anger.

Obi-Wan closed the door behind him softly on the way out.

_Failure. _

_Worthless. _

_Useless. _

_And so very empty inside. _

_So very empty._

Well, it wasn't the meditation pond, but it would do.

From his vantage point high on a grassy knoll, Obi-Wan watched the waves gently lap at the shore before receding. Unwanted thoughts swirled around in his head, chasing after each other and beating at him unceasingly until he was sure he would really scream and lose his mind.

He couldn't live like this. He couldn't.

Something in him had shattered along with the glass vase, and Obi-Wan thought it ironic that he felt more broken inside than the vase he'd destroyed.

Obi-Wan's elbows rested on his upraised knees, and he buried his face in his hands. He felt a slight stickiness on his cheek and lifted his head to see a smear of blood on his palm. He must have cut himself cleaning up the glass; he hadn't even noticed.

He was fascinated by the long streak of red that traced down the soft flesh, and he stared at it for a moment before his gaze dropped inadvertently to the smooth skin of his wrist. Lines of intersecting blue veins were visible, and he couldn't stop the thought of just how easy it would be to slice through them and end the charade his life had become.

Obi-Wan momentarily recoiled from thinking such a thing, but the voice in his head was softly whispering the words that had chased through his head since this whole nightmare of doubt and despair had begun …

_Failure…_

_Useless …_

_Worthless … _

And the siren's song of the peace he would have if he ended this was beckoned to him, tempting him …

_Peace._

But what of Qui-Gon – ??

_He didn't want you, remember?_

But that was a long time ago and it didn't matter now!!

_Yes, it did._

No …

And what of his training?

_They're better off without you. Just like your Master._

He knew it was wrong to think in such a way. He _knew_ it.

_It won't end otherwise._

But it's _wrong!_

_So alone … _

Please. Make it stop!

_And so very, very empty_.

He _could_ make it stop.

Obi-Wan slowly drew his small boot knife from its sheath, and placed it against his wrist.

_end chapter five_


	6. Chapter Six

I'm writing as quickly as I can during the holiday weekend … :) I realize the details are sketchy and the secondary plot less than basic, but please bear in mind that this is a character piece more than anything else. :)

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Six

* * *

The knife dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers to the grass.

Obi-Wan collapsed to the ground.

* * *

_Release your frustration; it won't help any._

Qui-Gon drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing his frustration to dissipate and surrounding himself with calm.

Where was Obi-Wan?

His Padawan had disappeared without so much as a note as to his whereabouts, and their bond remained strangely quiet. This irresponsible behavior was so totally unlike Obi-Wan it fueled the worry that had been growing within Qui-Gon to near panicked heights.

… But panic wouldn't help him find Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon took another measured breath.

He sat down at the comm station built into the corner of the living room and entered his code for the Jedi Temple. Qui-Gon absently tucked a lock of damp hair behind his ear while he waited for the call to connect, but other than that he remained perfectly still, betraying none of the turbulent emotion he felt inside.

He did, however, manage a smile when the image of his old Master finally appeared. "My Master."

"Master Qui-Gon," Yoda greeted. "Bring news of the negotiations, do you?"

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No, Master. Negotiations are scheduled to begin tomorrow." Focusing on Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon swallowed the pride that crowded his throat. "I wish to speak with you regarding an entirely personal matter."

Yoda's small face grew somber. "Here for you, I am, Qui-Gon," he assured gently.

Qui-Gon relaxed just marginally, but still worried. If he couldn't even approach the one he loved as a son, how could he convey his worries to Master Yoda? "I wish to speak with you about … my apprentice, Master," he said guardedly.

Yoda nodded gravely. "Young Obi-Wan is not well in the Force. Weakening, his signature is," the old Master said softly.

Qui-Gon felt his heart plummet to the general vicinity of his stomach. "Yes," he exhaled in a pained whisper. His pride suddenly so very unimportant, he continued without hesitation. "I don't know what to do, my Master," he confessed, his bright eyes dimmed with sorrow. "He will not speak to me. He is no longer the son I know."

Force, but it hurt to admit it. Qui-Gon thought briefly of all the many, many times he'd sat by Obi-Wan's bed in the Healers' Ward, keeping a silent vigil while his Padawan recovered from his most recent set of injuries. Holding his hand, smoothing the ginger hair from his forehead, or sending him calming thoughts while he thrashed inside the bacta tank, certain he was drowning instead of healing. Qui-Gon's heart broke every time he carried the young body of his Padawan to the Healers' and relinquished him to their care, trusting his Padawan to return to him healthy once more.

But this was worse, somehow. At the Healers', he waited for Obi-Wan's body to heal. Now, he felt like Obi-Wan's spirit – like his _soul_ – was in pain and wounded, and neither he nor the Healers' could do anything to help.

"Tried, have you?" Yoda knew well of Qui-Gon's reluctance to share his personal feelings.

"Yes. I failed," Qui-Gon admitted with a tinge of self-bitterness, earning him a sharp-eyed stare from Yoda. He ignored it, plunging on. "I do not know what to do. In some ways, you know Obi-Wan better than I; he brings difficulties to you that he will not discuss with me." At this admittance, there was much more than a mere tinge of bitterness in Qui-Gon's acidic tone. _Calm_, he reminded himself sternly. He finished, "I am asking for your help, Master, for I cannot help him."

"So sure are you?"

Qui-Gon blinked in surprise, momentarily pushing his darker emotions aside. "I have already admitted this, Master," he frowned. "I am asking you to help Obi-Wan. I have failed him; he only shuts me out."

"Perhaps talk is not what young Obi-Wan needs," Yoda said quietly. "Action you must take, Qui-Gon." For a moment, sadness gleamed in Yoda's sleepy eyes. "Time you do not have to delay. Hurry you must. Find him immediately, you should."

The worry was back in the pit of Qui-Gon's stomach. _I can't do this. I can't watch him fall apart and not be able to help. I can't be pushed away by him … like I push him away._

It was a harsh awakening to face. "Master, please, I – "

Yoda shook his head. "Do this, you must. Do this, you will."

There was no room for argument. "And the negotiations?" Qui-Gon asked weakly.

"Take care of them, also, you must," was Yoda's response. "Faith in you, I have, both in the matter of negotiations, and young Obi-Wan. May the Force be with you, Master Qui-Gon."

"And with you, my Master," Qui-Gon murmured automatically as Yoda closed the connection. Qui-Gon rose slowly from the console, feeling like he had aged immeasurably since earlier in the evening with President Talum's boisterous children. The Living Force felt eerily silent to him now.

Qui-Gon thrust the feeling aside. His own son needed him now; but how would he find him without the use of their bond?

_Obi-Wan,_ he thought anxiously, _where are you?_

_end chapter six_


	7. Chapter Seven

Ta-da-da-dum!! This chapter is dedicated to The Indelible Jay. I sort of got your hint. ;) No offense to anyone still following this story, but school and exams have to come first. I do apologize for leaving in the middle of an Obi-Wan crisis, though. :)

Barring disaster, I'll post on this story every Friday or Saturday as a minimum. I'll try to update more frequently than that, but once a week at least.

You've all been absolutely wonderful with your comments … without your reviews, this story I was quite sure was worthless to readers would have died in flames. I have another story I'm working up the courage to post; it should show up here sometime in the next few days (yes, beta-read. *g*)

Okay. All right. (surrounds herself with her favorite edibles – chocolate and the adorable picture of Ewan sleeping after his surgery in Life Less Ordinary – and begins to type … ) This one's iffy, sorry. No beta reader on this story; it's, well, Based On A True Story (with A Little Creative License Used In Jedi Matters *g*) – and I can't help the gaping plot holes life sometimes throws at us. :)

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Seven

* * *

The wind howled in his ears, pulling at him, terrifying him, and he tried to curl away from it, but his body stubbornly refused to move and the wind continued to drive needles into his exposed skin. He struggled to bite back a sob, but he was hurt, and cold, and tired; despite his efforts, tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. Dark blood seeping from his cut palm mingled with that from the gashes in his wrist; he pressed his arm against his stomach, feeling fresh blood soak into his already saturated tunic.

Somehow it didn't quite feel the way he'd expected it to. His strength had given out; fallen, he was lying on the cold, grassy knoll, dying, but there was no welcome release to the emptiness he'd been feeling, and even in the darkness coiling about the edges of his vision there was no peace. Even as his lifeblood drained out of him, he felt only regret.

Obi-Wan's last conscious thought was a single word:

_Master._

The wind continued to howl.

* * *

Alva Rez shuffled along beside his beloved, twisting his wingtips nervously but, he hoped, discreetly. It would not do _at all_ for his sweet Laia to see his apprehension, not tonight, _especially_ not tonight, the night of all nights! For tonight, this night of all nights, he would once more ask his love's wing in a renewal of their bonding, in a spectacular proposal – the proposal of all proposals!

He'd been planning fastidiously for this event, and he was sure that finally, after fifty years of thought and preparation, he had it perfect.

The setting was ideal – the grassy knoll by the sea where he'd first proposed to her all those years ago. The night was warm, and a quiet breeze blew off the water. The sound of the gentle waves was like a caress to his hearing …

Only, Rez realized with a sudden frown, the waves weren't gentle tonight. Nor was the wind quiet. The surf was crashing against the shore, and pulling back quickly only smash at the sand again. The wind howled through the trees with a cadence Rez had never heard before.

Well, this was all wrong. The weathercasters had _said_ light breeze, half moon, waves less than two kleks! Rez's feathers bristled both in dismay and anger – they had _lied!_ To him! His proposal to Laia was ruined!

Laia was moving closer to him. "Alva, I don't like this," she whispered, her dark eyes flicking back and forth. "The weather is funny and it's so cold; let's go in, please?"

Rez was torn. He had planned to propose to Laia on their knoll, just over the hill … but if his love was chilled, he must see to her comfort first.

"All right," he said gently, putting aside both his plans and dismay at the weather. "Let's go home."

He turned away from the knoll to lead her home … and she stopped suddenly.

"Alva, what was that?" Laia murmured anxiously. Her wing slid against his for comfort, and he brushed it reassuringly.

He craned his neck, listening, but couldn't hear anything except the wind and waves. "I don't hear anything."

Laia half-turned, straining against the wing he now used to hold her back. "I'm sure there's _something_ there … please, Alva, maybe someone is hurt … " Her small eyes glittered with worry, and Rez knew his love's compassionate nature wouldn't allow her to turn her back on any wounded creature – even if it were just a little squirmer that'd lost its way. She'd been that way since he'd known her; her kindness was one of her most beautiful attributes.

"I'll look," he offered, speaking in a low voice to be heard under the rushing wind. "You stay here." He said it knowing she would disobey, but to his surprise she merely nodded and stepped away from him.

Rez crossed slowly over the hill to the smaller knoll where he'd planned on proposing to Laia. The knoll was one of the few spots near the beach where one could have a measure of privacy, and as Rez tucked his head away to shelter it from the wind, he reflected that maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. His old joints were creaking with the effort of going up and down hill. _Almost there_, he breathed with a sigh. _Just a few more steps _…

… There was a body slumped on the knoll.

A human body.

With his head turned away from the wind, he'd almost stumbled directly over it. Rez let out a surprised squawk and backed up hurriedly. _Oh force, oh force, oh force – pull yourself together! _he commanded himself sternly, and made himself move forward.

It appeared to be a young man. The face was turned away from him, but in the pale moonlight Rez could see that the figure, while small, was too compactly built to be female. The legs and one arm were splayed awkwardly; the right arm was clutched close to the body. He was clad in cream-colored pants and a tunic, and wore high boots that ended just below his knees.

Rez inched closer. Was he dead? Rez was an elderly middle-class office worker who dreamed dreams, not a doctor or a healer or anyone else with medical experience. He found the idea of touching a dead body rather disturbing.

Laia was waiting, but despite her initial agreement, Rez knew she wouldn't stay behind the hill much longer. Carefully, he circled around to the young man's front.

Pale moonlight illuminated a waxy face that looked somehow managed to look both unbelievably young and incredibly old, innocent yet world-weary. From this distance, Rez couldn't tell if there was life in the body; the young man was so very still.

Gathering his courage, Rez stepped forward and placed the back of his wing against the pale cheek, checking for warmth and life in the pallid skin. He surprised when his wingtip came away wet; despite the wind and waves, there were no clouds to be seen, no rain to be felt in the air.

His wingtip had come away damp, but he had also felt life in the body. "Laia! Laia!!"

She had been waiting just beyond the hill. "Rez? What is it? Did you find anything?"

"Laia, come quickly, please!" he called, kneeling before the body. "Hurry!"

In an instant, she had reached his side dropped to her knees beside him. "Force, is he alive??" At his nod, she reached out a gentle wing to lightly touch the smooth features, lax in unconsciousness. "Let's turn him over – he must be injured somewhere."

It was awkward with their wings, but he was small and they worked together to gently roll the body over. The young man stiffened and a tiny moan escaped his lips; at the same time, the howling of the wind increased, pulling at their feathers and clothes.

"Let him down! Let him down!" Laia shouted suddenly over the roar of the wind. Carefully he was eased back into his original position and he immediately curled in on himself. The gale force of the wind died down.

"Wow," He'd seen many strange things in his time, but that certainly ranked near the top. Rez rocked back on his heels. "What was that?"

Laia was gently caressing the ginger braid draped over the young man's shoulder.

"Please wake up," she whispered, her touch moving to soothe the tear-stained cheek, "please."

The young man moaned again and started to shiver, and immediately the wind picked up.

"Stop it!" Laia ordered firmly, squeezing his shoulder tightly. "You must stop,"

In response the wind heightened, sending the waves beating against the shore and howling through the trees like a shrieking ghost. Rez shuddered.

"Maybe we should leave him, Laia."

Laia ignored him. "Stop it," she repeated sternly to the whimpering young man. "You must stop this right now. Please wake up."

He shifted and mumbled incoherently, but Laia was firm in her demand and after a moment, his eyelids flickered as consciousness slowly returned. Dull blue-grey eyes stared ahead fuzzily.

"_Master_?"

At least, that was what Rez assumed he'd said. The word was so garbled he could barely make it out.

"You must relax. Please." Laia thought for a moment, and then tried to make the young man understand. "The Force around you is disturbed," she said quietly.

Rez thought he saw comprehension dawn, but the blue-grey eyes were too pain-laden and dull for him to be sure. The eyes closed and the young man's pale brow furrowed in concentration; a moment later, the wind quieted and the water eased its raging to lap gently at the shore. Already exhausted, the young man's body slumped further.

"Thank you," Laia said quietly, brushing her wing over his face in a caressing gesture. Her ministrations earned her a small smile, but her soft suggestion they take the young man to a medical facility was met with aggressive protest.

The young man heaved himself into a sitting position with Rez's help. "I'm all right."

Laia's breath drew in a sharp hiss as she took in the young man's bloodstained tunic. "You're wounded," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yes," the young man agreed absently. He was staring at his hand in a way that suggested he was surprised it was actually a part of his body. Rez twitched nervously. The young man had moved upright easily enough, suggesting his belly had escaped unscathed by whatever had wounded him … but Rez couldn't see any other signs of damage.

"Where are you injured?" Laia asked patiently.

"I … " The young man was still staring at his right hand; to Rez it appeared uninjured but for some scar tissue there.

"Jedi, come." Laia tugged gently on the young man's arm; he looked up her, surprise written on his features.

"What?"

"It's rather obvious," Laia smiled.

"Hm? Oh." The young man looked his clothes over ruefully. "I guess it is."

Rez finally worked up the courage to speak to him. "Were you in a fight?"

"No … " The young man hesitated, his wan face tired. "Not exactly, anyway." He pushed himself to his feet, swaying a moment. He put a hand – his left – on Laia's shoulder and looked her in the eyes. "Thank you," he said softly.

She nodded. "I don't know what you were doing, but I knew you were doing it. I could feel the Force around you … twisting," she finally said, for lack of a better word.

He understood. "I don't know why it happened." He bent to retrieve the robe that had been folded under him and shrugged into it carefully. As he picked the cloth up, Rez spotted the glimmer of a knife that had been hidden underneath. This the young man wiped carefully on the grass before tucking it into a sheath in his dark boot.

Laia touched the young man again, this time smoothing the soft hair and waiting until his eyes met hers. "It is not yours to take, young one," she said gravely.

His mouth tightened and turned down, and he fingered the freshly scarred skin of his right wrist. "I think I realized that," he agreed with a tired smile.

"Almost a bit too late, I think," Laia added, and he nodded in agreement.

"But," he said seriously, "I must ask you to please refrain from telling anyone. It was … a mistake."

Laia's head cocked to the side skeptically. "Will it bring harm to you or someone who cares for you if we say nothing of this?"

The young man smiled wryly. "I think, Madame, that it would do greater harm if something were said. Give me your word, please?"

Rez stepped closer to Laia and touched her back lightly, offering his compliance. Laia nodded. "We will say nothing. If … "

"If?" Obviously the young Jedi hadn't expected a catch.

"If you will give me your word you will never do something so foolish again, young one."

His bright eyes glittered in the moonlight as he gave her a twisted smile. "A promise for a promise?"

"Done."

_end chapter seven_


	8. Chapter Eight

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Eight

* * *

Obi-Wan made his way back to the apartment he and Qui-Gon had been assigned. He'd left the two native Drymarians behind as quickly as his ingrained politeness would let him – there had been a pain entirely too familiar in the female's eyes, and it had made him acutely uncomfortable.

As he trudged through the quiet streets, his feelings swirled mercilessly. Obi-Wan thought he should first address the whispering in his head, which had only escalated in that he couldn't even _kill_ himself right, and then that he was a coward for regretting it after he'd sliced into his skin; he also thought he ought to consider the implications of the incredible Force storm he'd generated, but …

Obi-Wan only laughed.

He could only shake his head in incredulity at what he had done, what he'd almost done, and what he was doing now – preparing to go back to the apartment and lie like hell to his Master. There was no way Qui-Gon could ever find out about this. It was one more piece Obi-Wan locked away in the dark room of his mind.

A light sort of insanity was bubbling at his brain, a delicious fuzz that kept him from thinking about anything at all. Before, around the time of and during Qui-Gon's absence to Corellia, he had loathed and tried to reject the white noise that continually shattered his concentration and kept him from thinking.

Now, he welcomed it.

It was like a warm, safe blanket and he wrapped himself in it. It was simply lovely.

Obi-Wan reached the apartment, but to his surprise, the rooms were empty.

"Master?"

Nothing. Everything was exactly as he'd left it, down to the half-hidden pile of glittering shards that remained embedded in the carpet from the vase he had shattered in a fit of anger.

It was late. Where would Qui-Gon have gone?

To the President's home?

Out for a walk?

Looking … for him?

He didn't know.

Obi-Wan thought past the white noise for a moment and realized that there was a way he could find his Master. He'd tried to bury their bond as much as possible to keep Qui-Gon from finding out exactly how far into despair his Padawan had sunk, but it might be useful now. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, and reached into a part of his mind he'd long closed off.

_Master?_

* * *

Qui-Gon Jinn was frantic. What in Sith _hell_ had Obi-Wan been thinking?? Yoda's warning rang loudly in his mind.

If anything had happened to him …

He'd looked everywhere he could think of. The open café just down the street. Their ship, out at the docking bay. He'd even looked in the little arcade beside the café.

But Qui-Gon refused to give up. His Padawan was hurting, possibly lost, and damn it, the boy was going to talk to him if Qui-Gon had to _Sit. On. Him_ until he did!

It wasn't his first choice, but Obi-Wan had about outgrown his Force-tickling trick.

_Master?_

The voice was so faint, Qui-Gon wasn't sure if he'd heard it at first. _But it is a bit difficult to not hear someone else's voice in your head_, he thought to himself wryly, his shoulders slumping in weary relief that his Padawan was reaching for him and he would not have to continue on a fruitless search.

_Obi-Wan!_ he sent back quickly. _Where are you??_

_At our apartment, Master. I – I apologize for leaving, Master, only I –_

Qui-Gon interrupted gently. _Obi-Wan, save your explanation until I get there. I've been worried. _He sent a push of reassurance and love through the open bond.

Obi-Wan shut him out.

* * *

Obi-Wan clutched his head in his hand. His head was pounding, and he was unsure whether it was because of the bond he'd re-opened or everything that had happened to him simply crowding to the fore and overwhelming him. Either way, his earlier headache had returned with a vengeance.

Obi-Wan pushed his satchel from the couch where he'd previously dumped it and dropped onto the cushions with a groan, immediately coiling himself unconsciously into a tight ball. The heel of his left hand he pressed hard against his eyes to ward off the pain of the headache. His right hand came up to brace against his chest; he refused to look at or even think about the fresh scar there or the implications of what his subconscious mind had done after he'd collapsed on the knoll.

He hadn't really wanted to die. How funny.

The imprint of love Qui-Gon had sent through their bond soothed his troubled emotions somewhat, but even as Obi-Wan seized it to himself, clinging tightly, the voice in his mind was whispering against the peace it brought, its slithering tendril wrapping its slow way up the imprint and corroding it with its doubts and darkness. The imprint slid out of Obi-Wan's grasp, taking with it the brief comfort in the Force he'd felt and letting the despair come rushing back in.

_Oh Force,_ Obi-Wan thought desperately. A familiar plea came back to him.

_Someone help me. _

_end chapter eight_

BTW, yes, Obi-Wan does get a bit of help in the next chapter, so he'll stop saying that. ;) A lot of Obi-Wan's repeated pleas and the never-ending repetition his life has become emphasize the unbreakable circle of despair he feels his life has become.

AND, despite what I said earlier about life not having a beta-reader, you reviewers are so kind, you deserve a lot better than I've given you lately – so expect betaed chapters shortly, with a bit of a tweaking in previously written posts. If there was a part that especially touched you or you liked and you'd rather not see 'tweaked,' let me know. I've gotten so many reviews from considerate readers who like the story, but I'm not sure why you like it … whether it's the Obi-torture factor, or because you can sympathize, or what. So any help is appreciated. Thank you! :)


	9. Chapter Nine

As always, thanks to the reviewers who remind me that this story is actually live and unfinished. Without your reviews popping up in my mailbox, I would definitely come to believe this story isn't worth finishing. You all are absolutely wonderful. Thank you. :)

(What? Nooooo, of course that wasn't a plug for reviews ;) resolution soon, I promise.)

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Nine

* * *

A thought managed to permeate Obi-Wan's pounding skull:

_Oh. Qui-Gon is coming. _

_I should change. _

He could feel that the front of his tunic was still damp with his own blood. No, it wouldn't do for Qui-Gon to see that.

Obi-Wan drug himself up off the couch, his eyes still half-closed with fatigue. His tired limbs trembled even as he braced his slight weight first against his hands to push himself upright, and then his legs as he tried to stand. He wavered dizzily and sank to his knees, leaning back against the couch with a deep sigh. One hand reached out for his knapsack, but it was just beyond his the grasp of his fingertips. Too exhausted to reattempt physically moving, Obi-Wan closed his eyes fully and frowned in concentration. Apart from his brief mental contact with his Master, he'd not consciously accessed the Force in some time. It was disconcerting to feel its gentle pull through him now, and with a pang of longing Obi-Wan felt it fade despite his best efforts.

Even something as simple as moving objects was beyond him now. Wonderful.

With a tired lunge, Obi-Wan snagged the strap of his satchel and pulled it into his lap. He rummaged through it until he found a clean tunic, sliding out of the ruined one and replacing it with the new without even bothering to rise from the floor. His stained tunic he wadded into a tight ball and crammed it into the bottom of the bag.

Okay. That was done. But he sure he looked quite a sight. His hands were sticky and he imagined his hair was in disarray. But that would mean he'd have to get up. And he was so tired. Obi-Wan leaned back against the couch again. He simply didn't want to think about it. Besides, Qui-Gon –

The door hissed open.

Qui-Gon had arrived.

* * *

Qui-Gon's fingers fumbled as he ran his iden-card through the slot and waited impatiently for the door to open. He wasn't sure what he'd expected to see when he burst into the apartment … but Obi-Wan sitting on the floor and looking like he'd run a couple rounds with a gundark and lost certainly wasn't it.

"Padawan?"

Obi-Wan's head turned toward him slowly and he stared at Qui-Gon blankly. "Master," he said slowly.

"Obi-Wan," Relief warred with concern as Qui-Gon crossed the room and dropped to his knees at his Padawan's side. "Obi-Wan, what happened to you? Where were you?"

Blank eyes regarded Qui-Gon tiredly as Qui-Gon carefully slid an arm around Obi-Wan's trembling shoulders. "Master, I … I was … " Obi-Wan's voice trailed off. "I'm so tired, Master. I'm just so tired. My head hurts," he admitted.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, shifting gently so Obi-Wan was leaning against Qui-Gon's left side instead of the couch and rubbing a hand up and down Obi-Wan's right arm reassuringly. He wondered briefly if he was applying Yoda's advice correctly – but somehow this felt _right_. He continued moving his hand gently over Obi-Wan's bicep. "Would you like to talk?"

Qui-Gon's soothing ministrations were doing their work; Obi-Wan's head lolled against his Master's chest. "About what?" he murmured sleepily.

"About where you were, perhaps?" Qui-Gon suggested.

"Went for a walk," Obi-Wan sighed, eyes closed. "By the lake."

Ah. Qui-Gon had noticed the body of water during their walk from the docking bay. "You didn't leave a note," he reprimanded gently.

"Broken," was all Obi-Wan said.

"What?"

"Broke the vase," Obi-Wan explained. "Was … Master, I was … clumsy." Another sigh, this one laced deeply with regret.

"It's alright. We'll pay for a new one."

Obi-Wan nodded against him. Qui-Gon, encouraged by the fact that he'd gotten this far, took a step further.

"Perhaps we could discuss what has been wrong with you lately?"

Obi-Wan abruptly stilled and Qui-Gon knew with a sinking feeling he'd just lost any ground he'd gained earlier.

"I'm _fine._" Obi-Wan said harshly, suddenly pushing against his Master to rise to his feet, but Qui-Gon's strong arm around his shoulder prevented him from standing, and his efforts only escalated his headache. Obi-Wan gave up his brief struggle and slumped back against his master without another word.

"Obi-Wan," Frustrated with his failure, Qui-Gon tried to keep his temper in check, speaking in slow, measured tones, "You are not 'fine.' If you were 'fine,' you wouldn't shut me out, would you?"

Obi-Wan had nothing to say to that. Qui-Gon continued, "If you were 'fine,' you wouldn't be falling asleep all the time. If you were 'fine,' you would have read and remembered the assignment I gave you to study; you would have shown your normal graces and manners during both the journey here and to President Talum; and you _wouldn't_ have gone gallivanting off around a city you don't know, especially without telling me. Obi-Wan, you're treading dangerous ground. I'm worried about you," the Jedi Master finished softly. "I want to help you; but I can't help you if you won't tell me what's wrong."

Qui-Gon waited quietly for his Padawan's reply, which was long in coming.

"I just want to be left alone," Obi-Wan said, levering himself up and out of his Master's hold. He stumbled slightly as he straightened, but he strode to his room without looking at his master, and Qui-Gon caught his whispered, "Just leave me alone."

Qui-Gon, however, had had just about enough. "Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan froze mid-step at his Master's frosty tone, but didn't turn or speak.

"Padawan, you will not treat me with such disrespect. I am your friend, but I am also your Master and you _will_ show respect." Qui-Gon waited a beat. "Is that understood?"

There was a long pause during which Qui-Gon caught his breath, waiting for his Padawan's response. "Yes, Master," Obi-Wan finally said stiffly. "I'm not a child; you needn't treat me as one."

"Then don't act like one," Qui-Gon replied evenly.

Obi-Wan half-turned, a bitter glint in his blue-grey eyes as he regarded his Master, but he turned away without a word and his door closed behind him.

* * *

Qui-Gon had already left the apartment by the time Obi-Wan made his appearance the following morning. Obi-Wan scanned quickly the message Qui-Gon had left him – it was an outline of his Master's itinerary for the day's negotiations, and a tersely worded addendum to the bottom that suggested Obi-Wan's presence was optional. The datapad of information Obi-Wan had downloaded was missing; the fact that Qui-Gon had taken it instead of waking him to join him spoke volumes to the Padawan about not only the tension that was now heightened between them, but also Qui-Gon's new distrust in his apprentice's abilities.

His Master's disappointment stung, but Obi-Wan shrugged it off. _Now he knows, anyway,_ he consoled himself, _that I really can't do anything right anymore. I am a failure._

The voice that whispered in his mind agreed.

Obi-Wan tried to reach for the wonderful sense of insane lightness he'd felt the day before, but it was elusive; all he carried was the ever-present headache. He rubbed at the scar on his right wrist absently, wondering what he should do for the remainder of the day … if Qui-Gon didn't even _want_ him at the negotiations, then there was no reason he should bother with going.

Obi-Wan headed for the fresher with a set of clean clothes, carefully avoiding looking in the mirror as he passed the sink. A short time later, shaved and clean, he emerged feeling worlds better than he had when he'd risen.

He was somewhat surprised to see a light blinking on the comm console, signaling that they had received a message while he'd been in the fresher. Hmm. Curious, Obi-Wan flipped the switch, wondering if maybe Qui-Gon had changed his mind and decided to give his errant apprentice another chance.

It was from Master Yoda. Obi-Wan's lips pursed. He didn't know when Qui-Gon would return, and perhaps the message was important. He flicked the toggle that would connect him to the Temple, hooking an ankle around the chair behind him and pulling over to sit on while he waited through the appropriate channel connecting. Finally Master Yoda was staring at him, and Obi-Wan realized he had absolutely no idea what to say.

"M…Master Yoda. Greetings." It wasn't much, but it was a start.

"Greetings, Apprentice Kenobi. Searching for Master Qui-Gon, I am."

Obi-Wan took a stab at steadying his voice. "Master Qui-Gon is attending the negotiations, Master."

One of Yoda's eyebrows lifted. "Without you, young Obi-Wan?"

Swallowing his embarrassment, Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, Master." Sensing Yoda wished him to elaborate, he added weakly, "We had a … disagreement, Master."

Yoda, of course, didn't mince words. "Your fault was it, young Obi-Wan?" he questioned.

Obi-Wan bowed his head in contrition. No, he couldn't blame his Master in this matter; the fault was entirely Obi-Wan's. "Yes, Master Yoda."

"Keep you from his side, it should not," Yoda stated gravely. "Where you belong, that is."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan replied.

"Message for Qui-Gon, I have," Yoda continued, "Inform him, you will. Speak with you both later, I must."

"Master Yoda," Obi-Wan interjected hurriedly, before the aged Master could close the call. "Master Yoda, I must tell you something." Yoda's eyes met his expectantly, and Obi-Wan drew a deep breath. Suddenly he had to tell _someone_ what he'd done – someone who _wasn't_ Qui-Gon – and the comforting presence of the Master he'd known since birth had worn down his barriers somewhat.

"Speak then, young one," Yoda encouraged, and Obi-Wan nodded.

"Master Yoda, last night I … I … " Obi-Wan faltered, swallowed hard, and pressed on. "Last night I went out alone and Master I … I was feeling such a failure … I can't do anything right anymore, and it hurts so badly Master, I just wanted it to stop, and I thought I could make it stop and I had a knife Master I had a knife and I had cut myself earlier and it was so tempting Master that I, I took the knife Master and I … " Obi-Wan realized he was rambling and raised helpless eyes to the holographic image of his old Master. Yoda was regarding him with eyes that looked immeasurably sad in a lined face.

"Tried to take your own life, you did."

"Y-yes, Master," Obi-Wan affirmed miserably. "I very nearly succeeded … but somehow I used the Force to close the wounds … and there was a woman … a Drymarian woman who helped me. She … she knew, Master Yoda, I saw it in her eyes. She knew what I had done and made me promise not to try again."

Yoda was quiet for a moment. "Told Qui-Gon what you did, have you?"

Obi-Wan's gaze dropped to the floor. "No, Master. I cannot tell him."

Obi-Wan thought Master Yoda would say more, scold him perhaps or offer advice, but the Jedi Master was silent. "Master Yoda?" he prompted.

Yoda's large eyes blinked. "Contact me, you will, if feel that way again, you do," was all he said.

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan inclined his head respectfully as Yoda closed the connection. When the Jedi Master's image had faded, Obi-Wan let his head drop into his hands. Had he done the right thing by telling Master Yoda? Could Master Yoda help him?

Obi-Wan had a sudden sickening thought.

And would Master Yoda tell Qui-Gon?

_end chapter nine_


	10. Chapter Ten

I'm sorry

I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't realize the last post was a cliffhanger! Thanks to Rogue Spirit for cluing me in. I guess I'm also clueless on 'tissue warnings,' so if anyone has read my other fic, "Please Don't Go," I sincerely apologize for the lack of an, um, 'tissue warning.' :) I had no idea.

On with the show …

Will Obi triumph over his despair?

Will Qui-Gon actually sit on his apprentice??

Will Yoda tell Qui-Gon about Obi-Wan's attempted suicide?

Will Syn ever actually *finish* this story?? ;)

I'll tell you straight off that this is a cliffhanger chapter, so you may want to wait until the next post before reading this one. However, I'm trying to get the next chapter finished ASAP, because I don't like leaving cliffhangers, either. ;)

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

Chapter Ten

Qui-Gon Jinn was not in a pleasant mood. His latest attempts at negotiation with Obi-Wan had fallen utterly and painfully flat. The great Jedi Master was at a loss for what to do with his apprentice; Obi-Wan, his Padawan, his son, was fading before his eyes and Qui-Gon felt powerless to stop him.

Yoda's advice rang hollow in his mind: _action_, Qui-Gon needed to take. What kind of action? What could he possibly do that he hadn't yet done? Obi-Wan resisted all his efforts. Qui-Gon had been so sure, _so_ sure, last night he would be successful. Today, his fatigued body and eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion from a sleepless, restless night were vivid reminders of his failure. He'd attempted meditation far into the evening without success, and even trying to rest evaded him as his mind churned desperately, searching for a way to help Obi-Wan.

It hadn't helped that his patience with Obi-Wan had snapped when Obi-Wan had started to walk away. Qui-Gon emitted a deep sigh and brought his thumb and forefinger up to massage the high bridge of his nose. He needed some space and time to consider his next move. He'd left Obi-Wan a copy of his itinerary and taken the young man's notes, leaving Obi-Wan with the option of attending the negotiations or staying at the apartment. He sincerely hoped Obi-Wan wouldn't wander off again; his Padawan had been distant before they'd come to Drymar, but since Obi-Wan had ventured out alone last evening, there was the reemergence of strong discord wrapped tightly into his Padawan's Force signature and belying Obi-Wan's mostly controlled outward behavior.

Qui-Gon sighed again. Suddenly his two weeks on Corellia seemed like a very, very long time ago.

_We had a disagreement, Master._

_"Keep you from his side, it should not."_

Yes, Master.

Obi-Wan Kenobi's feet felt impossibly heavy in his thick nerf-hide boots. His usual confident stride had degenerated into a slow trudge as he wearily made his way to the negotiation chamber. Qui-Gon didn't even want him there – why should he bother going? He would be of no use, anyway.

_"Keep you from his side, it should not."_

But Master Yoda was right. He belonged at Qui-Gon's side, whether his Master wanted him there or not. Just as Qui-Gon had made a promise to train and protect his Padawan, so Obi-Wan had sworn an oath of fealty to his Master in return. He had already tread on his Master's patience with his disrespect; it would be up to him to make things right. He would apologize to his Master during the recess.

Obi-Wan climbed the short staircase leading to the negotiation chamber's paneled double doors. How would Qui-Gon react to his presence? Obi-Wan's headache roared and he was sure his stomach had hardened into permacrete. The doors swung open under his touch, and he stepped inside the chamber.

_Hmm. Nice. _Like everything else in the capital city, the negotiation chamber was designed to be functional, without extra trimmings and decorations. It was plain, but elegant in its simplicity. Obi-Wan gave it a silent nod of approval before looking about for his Master.

Qui-Gon wasn't hard to spot – he towered over the small Drymarians, but in his diplomatic mode, he stood out even among the humans gathered to negotiate their side of the treaty, tall and dignified as he presided over the assembled peoples, and Obi-Wan felt a momentary rush of warm pride in his Master.

He seemed to have timed it right; the negotiations were in a brief recess. Concentrating, Obi-Wan carefully sent, _Master? _and waited for Qui-Gon's calm gaze to settle on him. Qui-Gon didn't look displeased to see his apprentice, but neither did he look especially pleased, Obi-Wan thought.

_Well, of course. It's _you, _after all._

Obi-Wan squelched the bitter laugh that agreed and waited until his Master beckoned before closing the doors quietly behind him and joining Qui-Gon on the dais.

"Master," he greeted quietly.

"Obi-Wan." A brief squeeze on his shoulder, and Obi-Wan was supremely grateful for the contact.

"I … apologize for my lateness, Master … and also for my disrespect last evening."

"Thank you, Padawan." Qui-Gon smiled slightly. "Both apologies accepted."

Obi-Wan's face scrunched in a frown. Somehow he felt there should be more than that. He tried again, "Master – "

"You have much to learn, young one," Qui-Gon said dismissively, trying to be gentle but knowing he needed to center on negotiation, "and we will learn it together. But right now we have a great deal to focus on here."

_In other words_, Obi-Wan realized, _you had your chance to talk and blew it. Several times, as a matter of fact._ He discovered he was disturbed and relieved by this: disturbed that he thought he might be ready to share some of what he was feeling with Qui-Gon, and relief that he didn't have to.

"Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan stayed close to his Master's side throughout the long process of working out an agreement that would be acceptable to both parties. There were several times Obi-Wan was sure the peace process would fall through, but he watched with admiration as Qui-Gon guided them through the brief crisis moments with strength and calm purpose. Finally, the negotiations were called to a halt for the day. Obi-Wan sighed in relief as he and Qui-Gon exited the somber atmosphere of the building and stepped into the bright sunlit street.

"Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan's eyes were closed – for just a minute, his spirit was quiet and he was content in letting the warm sunlight bathe his upturned face. "Yes, Master?"

"I sensed you wanted to say something important earlier," Qui-Gon said slowly, trying to find words that wouldn't jostle his apprentice's sensitive nature. "If you'd like to speak now … " he trailed off, leaving Obi-Wan the space to pick up the conversation if he chose.

Obi-Wan did. _You can do this, _he told himself. He knew the voice would respond immediately, and he wasn't disappointed.

_No, you can't! Shut up!_

"Master, I … lately, I've … "

_Shut up! Shut upshutup!!_

"… been feeling … worthless, Master, and – "

_Oh, Force! You actually said it!_ Obi-Wan felt ill, his brief sense of contentment shattered and his head pounding.

" – and – "

"Obi-Wan." His Master's hand was on his shoulder, and they had stopped walking. "Obi-Wan, you're not worthless."

Obi-Wan's eyes shot open. "Master – "

"Padawan, that's a ridiculous notion. If that's what has been troubling you – "

Obi-Wan's jaw clenched at his Master's casual dismissing. "Master, please let me finish," he ground out quietly. _Shut upshutupshutup!!_

Qui-Gon's hand dropped. "Go on, Padawan."

"I – I … "

With a start, Obi-Wan suddenly realized he had absolutely no idea what to say next. Anything he'd planned on saying to Qui-Gon had disappeared from his brain like a vapor. He'd done it again, closed up inside himself and knew he must look like a fool to his Master. The blood rushed to his head and he wasn't sure if he was going to pass out or vomit. _You're so close,_ he told himself desperately. _Say something! He can help you … _

"Master, I … "

"Padawan?" Qui-Gon prompted, unaware of the battle that raged within Obi-Wan's mind. Obi-Wan turned helpless eyes to his Master.

"I … "

Obi-Wan was miserably sick. A bolt of bright agony shot through his head and he sank to his knees on the sidewalk. He was aware of his Master beside him, the curious passersby, and Qui-Gon's urgent voice speaking to him, but the roaring in his ears prevented him from making out the words. His head fell to his upraised hands as he felt the mental shields he'd so carefully erected begin to unravel. _No!_ he cried desperately, scrabbling to grab at the threads just as Qui-Gon in his worry gathered all his strength and slammed at his barriers.

Obi-Wan gasped in pain as his Master burst through his weakened shielding and barreled into his mind, breaking open locked doors and illuminating dark corners, leaving his mind vulnerable, exposed, naked. Tears sprung to his eyes but he made no move to dash them away.

Horrified at the dark and chaotic jumble that were Obi-Wan's thoughts and feelings Qui-Gon's breath came out in a stunned rush. _Oh, Force_, he breathed, and Obi-Wan heard him quite clearly over the bond Qui-Gon had reopened with his abrupt entry.

Obi-Wan panicked, afraid his Master now knew _everything_ and surged to his feet, fighting off Qui-Gon's restraining arm. He stumbled and almost fell, but he gathered the tattered remnants of his strength and fled, leaving Qui-Gon staring after him with an expression of shock twisted onto his face.

end chapter ten


	11. Chapter Eleven

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Eleven

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi was running.

He only had a vague idea of which direction he was going and where he was headed; he ran as if an entire pack of vrelts were hard on his heels – or one very disgusted Master. He was certain Qui-Gon wouldn't want him now; not after seeing his mind and the darkness within, or his tears; not after he'd run away like a child.

The wind whipped around him, snapping his long braid across his face and eyes and bringing fresh tears to join the ones streaming down his cheeks. He pulled desperately at the Force, seizing what snatches of it he could and using it to propel him faster and faster until the world raced by in a chaotic blur of color and sound. He quickly left the city behind and soon he was racing along the waterfront, his boots pounding into the wet sand and leaving deep imprints that quickly filled with cloudy water.

When his mind finally caught up to his body, he realized numbly that he'd reached the grassy knoll where he'd previously been. Exhausted, Obi-Wan slowed to a halt and collapsed to his knees, chest heaving and shoulders trembling with exertion. Sobs shook his slender frame, and time flew by uncontrolled as he wept. The only sound he made was a deep, harsh keening that forced its way from his throat and was pulled into the wind and carried away. He hurt, he hurt so very badly. If someone had plunged a white-hot knife into his body, he wasn't sure it could compare to the fiery dagger that had been thrust into his mind by his Master's sudden intrusion and consequent exposure of all the feelings and memories Obi-Wan had cherished, squelched, and repressed.

_Oh Force, he knows,_ Obi-Wan realized with a choked sob. _He knows _everything.

He was unaware of anything but his grief and despair until he felt himself gathered up in a pair of strong arms and a soft, regret-filled voice urged him to sleep. Too tired to fight the gentle command, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and rested his head against the broad shoulder of his Master.

* * *

Despite what Obi-Wan had thought, his Master didn't know everything. His withdrawal from Obi-Wan's mind had been so sudden, he was left with no more than a little hint of darkness and a lot of confusion – and a tremendous amount of guilt for barging in uninvited, even if it had been an accident.

Qui-Gon Jinn paced the room like a caged animal, his tumultuous emotions threatening to swallow him whole. Obi-Wan slept quietly on the couch, curled into a tight ball. The Force hummed around him, occasionally crackling, and Obi-Wan would whimper quietly before falling silent again.

It had been extremely easy to track his errant Padawan; with his unintended invasion of Obi-Wan's mind, Qui-Gon could once again read his apprentice's thoughts quite clearly. He'd simply followed Obi-Wan's Force signature until he'd all but stumbled over the young man near the beachfront. Qui-Gon had swallowed past the guilt and horror and carefully collected his apprentice from the ground, and borne him back to their apartment. Obi-Wan had been too weak to resist the Force behind Qui-Gon's quiet order to sleep, and he remained asleep despite Qui-Gon's near-frantic pacing.

Obi-Wan's pained admission bit at Qui-Gon deeply. Worthless? Where had that come from? Surely Obi-Wan knew not only his value to Qui-Gon, but also his worth to those around him, and the galaxy as well? No one was worthless – least of all his strong, caring apprentice, his Obi-Wan.

How had Obi-Wan come to that conclusion? And when? Qui-Gon's robe whipped around as he made a particularly quick, frustrated turn. Had something happened while Qui-Gon was on Corellia? Before then? Had Master Yoda or Mace criticized Obi-Wan, perhaps? Qui-Gon wondered if Obi-Wan would have told him if that was the case.

Or, Qui-Gon considered, thinking about the vague shadows he'd seen in Obi-Wan's mind, were Obi-Wan's feelings of worthlessness _his_ fault? Had he, in trying _not_ to overindulge Obi-Wan as he had his previous Padawan, withdrawn from Obi-Wan too much? Obi-Wan had rarely complained; indeed he had been quite nearly the perfect apprentice, but …

Qui-Gon's procession of thought halted mid-flow.

The perfect apprentice.

_Oh, Force,_ Qui-Gon thought with start of surprise, _what if that's it? _He had the sudden desire to shake Obi-Wan awake and demand to know if that was what his trouble was. _Was_ it his fault? Had he failed this apprentice, as well? Did he cause Obi-Wan to strive for the impossible achievement of perfection? The weight of attempting that alone would crush his young apprentice.

Despite his desire to know the answer to a question that had suddenly become very important, Qui-Gon decided not to wake his apprentice … perhaps he could reach his former Master instead.

Not wishing to disturb his Padawan, but hesitant to leave him, Qui-Gon settled on using the public comm downstairs. He gave Obi-Wan a last look and strode quietly from the room.

After he'd withdrawn, the crackling Force around his apprentice escalated to a wail, and Obi-Wan twitched restlessly in a dark, nightmarish sleep.

The knife was in his hand. There was blood, his blood, everywhere – a ruby river seeping from the scars on his wrist and forearm, running from his mouth, nose, eyes, ears, fingernails; on him, the couch he was curled upon atop the knoll, on his Master. Qui-Gon was leaning over him, shouting something, but Obi-Wan couldn't hear over the roaring in his ears.

The warm sense of sleep that had earlier coated his brain shrieked at him now, escalating and twisting and ripping through his mind, howling against the mental shields he had tried so carefully to rebuild and snapping them one thread at a time. His body was on fire, white-hot pain spreading beneath the continual flow of red that was now running down his arms, chest, and stomach to his legs and feet. He was sobbing, both from the pain and trying to catch his breath as his body arched and writhed in agony.

_Someone help me someone help mesomeonehelpmesomeone?someone?someone?someone-help-me-please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

Obi-Wan Kenobi awoke with a start, a muted scream dying in his throat as he struggled to draw air into his laboring lungs. His stomach lurched with vivid recall of the dream, and Obi-Wan knew what was coming next. _Oh force, oh force, oh force,_ he breathed in a chant as he stumbled to his feet. Arm protectively around his middle, Obi-Wan stumbled quickly to the fresher and barely made in inside before his stomach heaved and the little he'd managed to eat of late was quickly vomited up. Dry heaves came next, and by the time Obi-Wan collapsed, exhausted, against the rim of the bathtub, he was certain there was absolutely nothing left in his body – including vital organs – to throw up.

Until memories of the dream he'd had splashed across his vision.

When he'd finished a second bout of retching, Obi-Wan curled up on the floor and rested his flushed cheek against the cool tile. He didn't think he had the strength to do anything else, but discovered he was wrong there too as tears slid from his eyes to trace a crooked, forlorn path across his cheekbone and over the bridge of his nose to drip onto the tiled floor. _Pitiful, Kenobi_, he heard the derisive voice say, but he had no more power to banish the harsh litany of self-degradation that followed than he did to lift his hand and brush his tears away.

* * *

Qui-Gon closed the connection with a slap of frustration.

"'I'm sorry, but the Council is currently in session,'" he mimicked the aide he had spoken to with a tired sigh. "Probably agreeing on more rules I'll have to break."

He stepped out of the comm booth and flicked a quick glance at the chrono displayed on the wall. Time to rouse Obi-Wan and force some dinner into him. He would try to reach Master Yoda again later.

As he climbed the stairs, Qui-Gon debated whether or not to touch his apprentice's mind to wake him, or simply give him another shoulder-shake. Normally Obi-Wan didn't mind his Master's gentle Force nudges to encourage him to rise and face the day, but Qui-Gon was still a little tentative about using their bond. _He_ was shielding from Obi-Wan now, not wanting to jostle his Padawan since Obi-Wan had unexpectedly found his Master invading the private corners of his mind – albeit that Qui-Gon had done it accidentally.

The living room was empty, and the fresher door was ajar.

_Good. Obi-Wan's up on his own._

"Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon wasn't sure how to act around his Padawan, or how Obi-Wan would react to him. He wanted to apologize – as if that would make what'd he done all right – but no reply was forthcoming and Qui-Gon wondered if perhaps Obi-Wan was ignoring him. His first glance into the fresher told him that this was not the case.

"Obi-Wan!"

He dropped to his knees beside his apprentice, noting Obi-Wan's sweat-soaked hair and clothes and the smell of vomit in the air and pushing these observations aside as he carefully placed a large hand near Obi-Wan's left temple.

Dull eyes turned up to look at him, and Qui-Gon noticed silvery tear tracks down the flushed cheeks. Obi-Wan's mouth moved to speak, but his words were inaudible.

"Shh, it's all right," Qui-Gon soothed, combing his hand through the damp hair. "Everything's okay." Which was a lie, but he repeated it like a mantra as he gently lifted his Padawan so Obi-Wan's upper half was cradled in his arms. "It's okay."

Finally a tentative mental brush reached Qui-Gon's mind.

_M-master? _

"I'm here," Qui-Gon reassured. "I'm right here, Obi-Wan," he promised, and was pleased to see some of the light return to Obi-Wan's blue-grey eyes. He held the shuddering young man tightly. "I'm right here."

Obi-Wan's mouth worked again, but the only sound his throat could produce was a rasping whisper that was painful for him to force out and for Qui-Gon to hear. Qui-Gon gently displaced his apprentice to retrieve a glass of cool water from the fresher sink, which Obi-Wan tried to refuse by turning his head away. Qui-Gon, however, murmured, "Drink, Obi-Wan," and placed the glass to Obi-Wan's lips. After a few wary sips, Obi-Wan turned his head away again, but not before flashing his Master a tiny, grateful smile. He tried a 'thank you,' but couldn't speak past the raspy whisper.

Qui-Gon hesitated, and carefully toed the threshold of his bond with Obi-Wan. _It's all right_. _Don't speak yet._

Obi-Wan flinched at the contact but nodded, and Qui-Gon could feel the Force shift around him as gathered the little strength he had. _Master, I … I need to talk with you._

'I'm here," Qui-Gon reaffirmed, speaking aloud to ease his Padawan's anxiety, then chuckled as Obi-Wan amended, _well, 'think' to you anyway, Master,_ with a breath of a laugh. "Do you want to clean up first?" Qui-Gon asked cautiously. "Are you still feeling ill?"

After a pause, Obi-Wan responded, _I think I'm okay, but I would like to clean up – but Master, I need to apologize to you – you're absolutely right: I've been behaving like a child and I – _

"Obi-Wan, stop," Qui-Gon interrupted the rush of words firmly. "Stop right now. I owe you an apology as well." He offered Obi-Wan a small half-smile. "And if you wallow in all that angst, you'll make yourself sick again. I need to talk with you too, Padawan … but I want you to clean up first. Do you need help? No? All right then. Take a long bath, a short shower, whatever you feel like. And think about what you'd like to say to me that does not involve apologies or self-castigation. Also, I'm going to have some soup brought up, as you feel entirely too thin under your tunics, Padawan. Do you think your stomach can handle a bit of soup?" Obi-Wan nodded carefully and Qui-Gon helped him stand. "Good." Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan a quick hug, ignoring the surprised look that flitted across Obi-Wan's face.

"You've had me worried," he explained. "I'll bring you some clean clothes and there are clean towels in the cabinet. We'll talk when you're finished."

_end chapter eleven_

*l* There was more to this chapter, but as it would have qualified as yet another cliffhanger ending, I'll just post it in the next chapter in non-cliffhanger format. ;) Thanks for the reviews!


	12. Chapter Twelve

DarthLiela – My original upload of the first chapter was unsuccessful, so I removed it instead of simply replacing it. I uploaded the first chapter again before the original post had time to clear, and I _think_ that's why the chapter count is one higher than it should be. And as far as I know, my email is working; only I rarely have time to check it. Apologies for that to you and anyone else who has taken the time to email.

Ginger Ninja – your reviews are priceless. *g* I'm so pleased I could inspire your fic – I've been reading the first one as quickly as I can and reviewing as I go. My next posted story will be dedicated to you ;)

And *lol!!* Becky – Obi drowning himself in the tub!! I almost rewrote the chapter to include that after I read your review! I can just see Qui-Gon – "alright, Padawan, you've been in there long en – aaah!! Obi-Wan!!!!"

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Twelve

* * *

Obi-Wan nodded in acquiescence. It would be preferable to clean himself up before … talking – or attempting to yet again, anyway – with his Master. Still, he had to know the answer to one question. _Master?_

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

_When you – when you … saw in—in my mind –_ Obi-Wan winced at the flash of guilt that rippled through their bond but continued, swallowing past the quaver in his 'voice', _what did you see, Master?_

He felt Qui-Gon's heavy sigh thread through his hair, and the arm around his shoulders tightened as the man supporting him stiffened. "Obi-Wan, I'm very sorry. It was completely by accident – I ... panicked when you collapsed."

_Master_, Obi-Wan cut in quietly, _now is not the time for apologies_, he reminded. _Please ... Qui-Gon_, he asked seriously, _... tell me what you saw._

"Only hints and shadows," Qui-Gon said quietly. "Nothing else, and nothing definite." He tried not to worry when Obi-Wan breathed a sigh of relief. "But the shadows were … dark, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan nodded warily. _Yes, Master._

"We will talk about it?"

_Yes, Master. _

"No avoiding the subject? No running away?" Qui-Gon tried to inject a note of lightness into his voice, but the underlying worry was still there.

Obi-Wan's face fell as his Master reminded him of some of his behaviors of late. _No, Master. I will behave as becoming a Jedi._

"Obi-Wan, you've always behaved as a Jedi. A very young one at times, but a Jedi nonetheless." Qui-Gon smiled and cuffed the side of his apprentice's face lightly. "Now get cleaned up. I'll get your fresh clothing."

He earned a tired half-smile by way of acknowledgement, and left to busy himself at the comm. With a minimum of trouble he was able to order a dinner of rather appetizing-sounding soup and bread to be sent to their room. Qui-Gon caught sight of Obi-Wan's small satchel rested on the floor by the couch. Rather than deliver the entire pack to Obi-Wan, he decided to simply collect some clothing for him. Flipping the top open, Qui-Gon was mildly surprised to see his normally neat Padawan had crammed his clothing haphazardly into the pack. No wonder Obi-Wan had been looking so rumpled lately. Qui-Gon shook his head and began to rummage through the satchel.

* * *

Obi-Wan gingerly stripped out of his damp, stained tunics. He still felt unbelievably miserable, but he couldn't deny the certain lightness that came with the knowledge that this would all be over soon. Qui-Gon _would_ help him. He'd been a fool to doubt it.

… hadn't he?

Obi-Wan squelched the thought as quickly as it had come. He'd promised his Master, and there was no going back now. He could start slowly, keeping certain things from his Master – his failed suicide attempt, for instance, and his nightmares – and broach those subjects later … maybe, Obi-Wan thought, cringing. Hopefully not. Hopefully never.

Hastily he stepped out of the rest of his clothing and gingerly lowered himself into the steaming bath, sighing as the hot water gently eased some of the tension from his knotted muscles. The bath was of adequate size; not large by any means, but spacious, reflecting the rest of their roomy apartment. Obi-Wan found that he could sufficiently uncurl a body that had been cramped far too long, resting his head on the rim of one end with his toes just barely reaching the opposite length. _Ah, the one advantage to being short,_ he thought with satisfaction. His ever-present headache dimmed somewhat, and Obi-Wan felt his eyelids slowly begin to drift downward as his body relaxed for what he was sure was the first time in months.

He stayed in as long as he dared before Qui-Gon would think he was stalling – a very un-Jedi thing to do, then quickly undid the thin braid that hung over his right shoulder and washing through his hair thoroughly. Obi-Wan climbed from the bath, dripping and tired, but pleased to be feeling clean and somewhat relaxed. He padded across the floor to retrieve a towel from the cabinet Qui-Gon had indicated and scrubbed it through his hair hastily, scattering the short spikes out in various directions, and then knotted the towel around his waist.

Obi-Wan paused before the large mirror over the fresher sink. Of late, he'd only used a mirror long enough to shave or ensure he was completely presentable to accompany his Master. He hadn't actually _looked_ at himself in some time, too wary of what he would see in the eyes of the stranger there.

Suddenly curious, Obi-Wan's eyes lifted to the mirror, but halfway there his courage failed him and they dropped to the floor again. No, he did not want to look there.

He reached for his satchel before he realized it was nowhere in sight. _Oh,_ he realized, _I didn't bring it in with me. Qui-Gon said … _

_Qui-Gon said … _

Obi-Wan's thought process crashed to a sudden screaming halt. Qui-Gon had gone to retrieve his clean clothes. Qui-Gon would be looking through his satchel. Qui-Gon would find … would find … And he … oh, no. _Oh, no. No, no, no._ _Stupid!!_

Obi-Wan exploded out of the fresher in a blur, but even as he rounded upon the place where his satchel had sat, he knew he was too late. Obi-Wan skidded to a stop before his Master, who was clutching his rumpled, bloodstained tunic in his fist with an expression of stunned disbelief that made Obi-Wan's stomach revolt so violently he thought he would be ill again.

"Master!" Obi-Wan said frantically, but his voice was still rough and all that came out was a harsh-sounding croak. It was enough to make Qui-Gon look up, horrified eyes coming up slowly to alight on his panicked apprentice.

"Obi-Wan?" his Master queried simply, and in his name Obi-Wan heard a myriad of questions at once. _Obi-Wan, what is the meaning of this? Obi-Wan, what happened? Obi-Wan, what were you thinking – why didn't you tell me??_ Betrayal from the master and shame from the apprentice coursed through the bond, meeting in the middle and suffusing each other. Obi-Wan looked away.

"Obi-Wan, look at me."

He had been trained for years to respond to his Master's commands. Obi-Wan's head obediently lifted, but not before he lifted a bare forearm to press against the sheen of tears that threatened to fall from his eyes. _Damn. Idiot. Screwed up again._

"What happened, Obi-Wan? Were you in an accident?"

_No,_ Obi-Wan managed to send quietly.

"Were you attacked?" Qui-Gon pressed. "Tell me, Obi-Wan."

_No, Master._ A tremor was starting to work its way through the young Jedi's body and he forced it down. _Not like this!_ he wanted to scream. _It wasn't supposed to be like this!! Force!! _he thought vehemently, making sure not to let his thoughts cross over the bond. _Can't I do _anything _right??_

The forearm came up again to press the back of one wrist against the damp eyes, and Qui-Gon's azure eyes were drawn to a new set of scars in the soft skin, one over the wrist, and one up near the elbow …

Qui-Gon felt time ground to a halt as a dozen realizations suddenly clicked into place with what he saw and Obi-Wan's quiet denials. Obi-Wan's earlier admission bit at him: _Worthless. He thinks he's worthless. Oh Force. He didn't. He didn't. He did? _"Obi-Wan," he said slowly, unable to pull his eyes away from the marked skin. He lifted the tunic, shaking it gently, still staring. "Did you do this?"

_Obi-Wan's eyes were wide as he saw where his Master's attention had caught. The arm dropped quickly, but it was far too late. _Master, I—I …

Qui-Gon felt like he'd been immersed in a state of absolute horrified immobility. _He had_. _Force, he _had. Obi-Wan, _his_ Obi-Wan … he had??

Obi-Wan's eyes dropped to the ground again. "Look at me!" Qui-Gon said sharply, and Obi-Wan's startled gaze immediately flew back up to meet his Master's. "Obi-Wan, was this by your hand?" he demanded, worry heightening the anger in his voice and sending it careening down their bond to crash into his unsteady apprentice. "_Did. You. Do. This_??" Obi-Wan was very pale, swaying on his feet, but somehow remained upright and answered his Master.

_Yes_. The word was a breath of a whisper in Qui-Gon's mind.

_I've failed_ was the thought that ran through both minds simultaneously.

After a frozen moment, Qui-Gon forced himself to resume breathing again. Clutching the ruined tunic in one hand, he rose and pressed Obi-Wan's satchel into the young man's unresisting arms with the other. "Go get dressed," he ordered quietly, "and come back."

_Yes, Master,_ Obi-Wan breathed miserably. Any earlier confidence he'd had in talking with his Master had vanished, leaving him a worn, empty shell yet again. He turned slowly and trudged back to the fresher. His knees were shaking and he was sure he would collapse, but somehow he made it, pulling the door closed behind him and leaning against it wearily.

_end chapter twelve_, and no worries, thirteen will be up by tomorrow evening at the latest, or I'll throw in some gratuitous Obi-torture or something to make up for it. ;)

hey – only one or two chapters to go! :):):)


	13. Chapter Thirteen

So sorry about the delay … things have been hectic. _Sunshine Blues_ is now up … mild Obi-torture, though. I don't understand it … even the stories that start out as humor end up kinda angsty. *g* My apologies to poor Obi. :-) Please let me know what you all think of it, if possible … it's my first stab at an unchaptered medium-length story, and a predecessor to trying to pen a very long Obi-epic (well, two of them, actually.)

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

It was nearly five minutes before Qui-Gon found he could move again. He was utterly, absolutely stunned and shocked and terrified at what had nearly occurred. His Obi-Wan. Dead by his own hand. _How could I have failed him so greatly? Am I so truly unworthy to be a Master? _His own doubts were starting to creep in, and he pushed them away viciously.

The fresher door opened and Obi-Wan emerged slowly, clad in a clean under tunic and pants but lacking his belt and boots. Awkwardly, he lowered himself to sit a safe distance from his Master, facing Qui-Gon but just out of his reach. Qui-Gon swallowed his anger and remained where he was, and as his emotion threatened to overwhelm him he prayed for the right words, just this once for the right words to reach his apprentice.

"Obi-Wan, you know this is very serious," he began quietly. At Obi-Wan's terse nod, he continued. "Trying to kill yourself – " he ignored Obi-Wan's flinch; there was no nice way to say what he intended to say tonight " – is _wrong_, Padawan, very wrong. You've been taught that your entire life. I want you, Obi-Wan, to tell me why you chose the coward's way out instead of using not only the brains I know you have but the courage I've seen you display to fight those negative feelings. Why, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan gazed at him dispassionately, tiredly, as he drew his knees to his chest, clasping his arms around them loosely and rocking back and forth gently. The silence that stretched between them grew to be very, very uncomfortable before Obi-Wan finally replied, his voice defeated and worn.

"I—I don't know, Master," he admitted painfully. "Fighting it … feels like something I should do, like something I need to do, but … " He swallowed. "I'm so tired, Master. Force, I'm so tired. I don't want to feel at all, Master. I just want it to stop."

Obi-Wan looked up hesitantly, obviously expecting a reprimand, but Qui-Gon was silent, his thoughts far away. Finally he shifted and stared at his apprentice. Obi-Wan wilted a little under the scrutiny, but kept his eyes locked onto his Master's.

"Obi-Wan … did you really want to die?" he asked his apprentice quietly, and watched the storm of confused emotion ride through the young Jedi's eyes.

"I thought I did. Yes, I did. I cut the skin because I wanted to die. There's no way out, Master. There's just no way out. So I cut my skin and I watched myself bleed and I started to grow more tired than before, but I didn't feel like I thought I would. I don't remember much … but I remember feeling … regretful. Disappointed in myself. And I realized that I hadn't solved anything at all. And I was disappointed that I had chosen the quickest way out instead of … taking up the … challenge … that deciding to live would offer..."

Obi-Wan wanted very much to drop his head and avoid the calm gaze of his Master, but he had promised he would behave as a Jedi and he intended to follow through. "Master?"

"Yes, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon murmured, his own voice rough with emotion he fought to conceal. It would do Obi-Wan no good if he broke down in the middle of his Padawan's narrative. Not when Obi-Wan needed him to be strong – but, _Force! – how could I not see this was happening??_

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan said softly, devoid of hope as he continued to rock slowly. "I'm truly sorry."

Qui-Gon didn't reply to that. Instead he moved forward until he was seated beside Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan shifted uneasily but didn't pull back as Qui-Gon picked up his wrist and lightly touched the scar embedded in the soft skin. The Jedi Master had been so stunned to find both the bloody tunic and notice the marks on Obi-Wan's wrist he'd not even considered the time that would have been needed for the scar tissue to form. "What happened, Obi-Wan? How did you scar so quickly?"

"I'm not sure," Obi-Wan admitted, his brow furrowing in the way it always did when he was honestly confused. "There was – "

The door chime interrupted Obi-Wan, and Qui-Gon rose to retrieve the small meal the courier had brought. "Come here, Obi-Wan. Eat."

"I don't know, Master," Obi-Wan considered dubiously. "I'm not very hungry." A tiny hint of Obi-Wan's tongue poked out between his lips to show his distaste.

"It's only soup, Obi-Wan. It will ease your stomach. At least try to eat a little."

Sighing, Obi-Wan hesitantly made his way to the table and watched quietly as Qui-Gon opened containers and set a light meal of soup and bread before him. The Padawan had to admit that it smelled rather good, and even his queasy stomach didn't rebel when he tried a few spoonfuls of broth.

He'd not eaten regularly in some time, and a small amount of the soup was sufficient before he couldn't eat anymore. So to distract his Master from the still mostly-filled bowl, and because he didn't want Qui-Gon to have to prompt him again, Obi-Wan picked up where he'd left off. The soup had achieved its purpose in soothing his rough throat, and Obi-Wan was somewhat relieved that although his voice lacked its usual strength, it was again usable. He was still a little wary of using his bond with Qui-Gon, and having his Master in his head now made him nervous.

"There was a storm," he began again, trying not to look away when Qui-Gon's eyes lifted from his meal to focus on him, "I—I am not sure what happened. I created it … I think … at least, I could stop it. I didn't mean to do anything … it happened after I … passed out. A woman found me – a Drymarian woman – and she made me make it stop, Master, and then I noticed the scarring." Obi-Wan plowed to a halt, confused and frightened by the look in his Master's eyes. Anger, certainly, and deserved anger at that, frustration … but sadness outshone them all.

Obi-Wan's stomach twisted in a knot. He had made Qui-Gon angry before, and frustrated, most certainly … but never, never, never had he seen his Master, the strong, confident, Qui-Gon Jinn, look so heartbreakingly, vulnerably sad as he did now while he regarded his apprentice. Obi-Wan's heart dropped to join his stomach as he suddenly realized that Qui-Gon, his Master, had lost faith in him, and maybe in himself. Qui-Gon needed … reassurance.

The effect of Obi-Wan's insight was instantaneous. The young Jedi shot from his chair, distancing himself from the shaking in his body as he struggled to Qui-Gon's chair and dropped to his knees beside his Master. His eyes were filling with salty water but he ignored it, craning his face upward as he clutched the bottom of Qui-Gon's tunic.

"Master, I am so sorry. Please forgive me! I know that it was wrong and I've been behaving badly of late, Master, and I am sorry. It's nothing to do with you, please believe me. It's all me. I've tried to fight it but I'm so tired … I can't do it alone, Qui-Gon, I've tried and keep failing. I couldn't fight anymore … I thought it was for the best, I truly did. It wasn't any omission of yours. I was wrong, I know I was wrong … I'm sorry." Before he could repeat himself any more, Obi-Wan let his head drop onto his Master's thigh and clenched his eyes shut tightly, forcing the wall of tears away and trying to calm the shuddering of his body. After a moment, he felt his Master's hand combing through the short hair at the back of his head.

When his Master finally spoke, Obi-Wan was startled at the words. "Obi-Wan … do you think I want you to be perfect? The perfect apprentice?"

Obi-Wan froze. Had Qui-Gon lied to him about what he'd seen inside Obi-Wan's mind? Did he know that Obi-Wan feared discrediting his Master's training and earning his disapproval if he was less than perfect?

"M-Master," he said hesitantly, cursing his panicked stutter. He didn't lift his head from Qui-Gon's thigh. _Go, Obi-Wan, you can do this._ The voice immediately rose up in protest, but Obi-Wan gathered his courage and squelched it. _Go._ "I want you to be proud."

Qui-Gon considered this answer. "Obi-Wan, perhaps I've overestimated you," he finally began, and the look of sheer horror on Obi-Wan's face as it shot up to stare at him and just as quickly drop as the young man hung his head prompted him to squeeze the narrow shoulders tightly and add quickly, "I've overestimated you, Obi-Wan, in assuming that you know how much I love and care for you, young one." Qui-Gon was relieved when the tremors under his fingers eased slightly with this reassurance.

Gentle fingers guided his face upward and caught his chin when he would have looked away from his Master's penetrating gaze. "Obi-Wan, I am ever proud of you. I am proud of your achievements _and_ your failures, Padawan." The words where simple, but spoke volumes to Obi-Wan's wounded soul when he heard the truth in his Master's voice.

"Master?"

"You have always learned from your failures, Padawan. Obi-Wan … " Qui-Gon shifted slightly to better face his apprentice. "You will fail. Failure is inevitable; you cannot live a perfect life any more than I can. You will fail," he repeated. "It's what you do with the knowledge you've gained from your failure that determines whether you are strong or weak. You have always chosen to be strong, Obi-Wan. I am very proud of you."

_Until now_, Obi-Wan thought miserably. "Master … I-I chose to be weak. Are you still proud of me?" He didn't mean to sound like a child, nor did he mean to sound so hopeful awaiting Qui-Gon's answer.

"Yes, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said quietly. "I am not proud of what you did – I will never be proud of the fact that you tried to take your own life; but the fact remains that I am proud of _you_, that I love you, and there is little you can do to change that. Despite the fact that you've come close a few times," he added teasingly, and Obi-Wan responded with a tiny grin.

"I don't doubt that," he said honestly, and Qui-Gon gave him a hard stare.

"You should," he said pointedly. "Come on, Obi-Wan. Up. You're making my neck stiff looking down at you."

_end chapter thirteen_


	14. Chapter Fourteen & Epilogue

Last chapter! Thank you so much everyone – your reviews are wonderful! I know it's clichéd to say, but I hope it's been worth the wait. Please let me know if all questions were answered and the angst/mush levels were sufficient. *g* Wow. I can't believe it's finally done …

AN: When I started 'just easier' I had no idea of the warm reception it would receive. It was intended to be a quietly updated story, maybe once every few weeks as things progressed and time allowed as I was very nervous about posting it in the first place. I've never written anything this close to home and never realized it would be so close for others, too. Thank you, everyone. Knowing that it's not 'just you' goes a long way in giving you the courage to keep going.

Just Easier Than Dealing With the Pain

By: Syntyche

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

* * *

Obi-Wan had claimed the far end of the couch and was contentedly curled around a mug of steaming tea. He'd been quite happy to retrieve his robe for use as a blanket and Qui-Gon fought back a sigh. _Better a blanket than wadded into a pillow,_ he tried to console himself, but it would need ironed either way.

Qui-Gon had taken the armchair near where Obi-Wan was seated, and had busied himself stirring sugar into his own tea. The air was noticeably lighter between the two Jedi, and Qui-Gon was comfortable to let his Padawan take a little time to sort through the things they had discussed. He would be here when Obi-Wan was ready to talk again. There was still much ground yet to cover, and Qui-Gon had the feeling they would be talking a great deal throughout the months to come, but for now the Force around Obi-Wan had stabilized some and the hum he created had lessened in its intensity.

Qui-Gon stifled a yawn. It was late, and there were negotiations to be dealt with in the morning, but his presence seemed to comfort Obi-Wan and he didn't quite want to let Obi-Wan out of his sight just yet, either. He tried to tell himself he was only worried about Obi-Wan having a relapse of his earlier illness, but truth be told, Qui-Gon hadn't realized until a very short time ago just how dangerously close he'd come to losing Obi-Wan and now that he knew, the knowledge of which wouldn't leave him for a very long time, perhaps ever. It would come as a great surprise to the Jedi Master if he could keep himself from hovering over Obi-Wan's sleep couch all night just to make sure his Padawan continued to breathe.

"Master?" Obi-Wan asked in a voice muzzy with drowsiness, unaware of his Master's scrutiny.

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan's voice cleared, his seriousness evident. He glanced down quickly then back up. "Do … do you ever feel depressed?" he asked quietly, holding his breath as he waited for the reply. To his astonishment, Qui-Gon laughed softly.

"Yes, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan hid his sudden gape by swallowing a gulp of his tea hastily. The liquid burned the inside of his mouth and he forced it down. "You do?"

Qui-Gon leaned forward in his chair and studied Obi-Wan intently. "Yes. All the time, Obi-Wan. But I don't have time for it; I have a purpose that requires, that _demands_ my all. Do you see?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes." He hesitated. "Thank you."

"For what?" Qui-Gon asked, surprised.

"For letting me know I'm not alone," Obi-Wan said simply. "And that maybe … it's not just me."

Qui-Gon smiled. "You're welcome, Obi-Wan. No, it's not just you. And you're never alone, my Padawan."

Obi-Wan curled back under his robe, seemingly comforted by the answer. "Master?"

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

"I was given a second chance, wasn't I? Not everyone gets a second chance … Prince Xares didn't."

Qui-Gon was quiet a moment. "Yes, Obi-Wan. You were." He closed his eyes briefly as he recalled the man to whom Obi-Wan referred.

Two years previous he and Obi-Wan had been sent to protect the Crown Prince of Resla, a hardened young man embittered by a vicious failure on the battlefield during the fight for control of Resla. Xares and his forces had succeeded and gained the monarchy, but en route to Resla the Jedi had received word that Xares had not been able to overcome his bitterness or the sting of failure, and had killed himself a mere two days before he was to have taken the throne.

"No, Xares didn't receive another chance," he agreed. "It would appear the Force has other plans for you, young Padawan."

Obi-Wan nodded into his tea mug as he swirled the liquid around.

"I think I'm ready for them."

That night, the dreams came again, but they were somehow farther away this time, and Obi-Wan Kenobi was not afraid.

* * *

Qui-Gon relaxed back into the chair with a pleased sigh. He'd been able to give his Master good news on both fronts, those of his Padawan and the negotiations. Though Qui-Gon would admit it to no one but his Master, Yoda's praise caused a swell of pleasure in his chest. Yoda had been right; he was ably handing both situations on his own.

Qui-Gon finished his tea and gave into the urge to check on his apprentice. He loosened the cocoon of blankets somewhat so Obi-Wan would be able to breathe and knelt by the bed, watching his apprentice's peaceful features. He'd come so close to losing Obi-Wan, he realized again. So close. And it wasn't over yet, they both knew, but Obi-Wan was ready to begin the slow fight on the long road home.

And Qui-Gon vowed that, Force permitting, he would be with him every step of the way.

* * *

Epilogue

* * *

With a yelp, Obi-Wan Kenobi darted out of the shower as the steaming cascade of hot water suddenly turned into an onslaught of frigid icicles. _Master!!_

_Sorry, Obi-Wan,_ came the reply, and Obi-Wan could hear the mirth in Qui-Gon's voice. He sighed explosively and reached for a towel. _I told you – twenty minutes and I start the wash. I refuse to allow your training clothes to sit for hours. They smell funny._

"Yeah, yeah," Obi-Wan grumbled as he knotted the towel. After the successful completion of the trade regulation negotiations, he and Qui-Gon had resumed their habit of sparring before dinner. Obi-Wan had always relished the rigorous training – and since his despair curbed while he focused on his training, Obi-Wan welcomed the intense workout all the more.

He cracked the door open and yelled down the hall, "That's Padawan abuse, you know that, Master??"

He pushed the door shut and reached for his toothbrush; halfway there, Obi-Wan caught sight of his profile in the mirror and froze. _You can do it_, he told himself firmly. Slowly, he turned so he was facing the mirror and wiped the misty condensation off with his hand.

A stranger did indeed stare back at him. Obi-Wan swallowed hard. _That's me??_ _That's _me_??_

The hair, he remembered. Ginger-colored. Somewhat damp. Kinda spiky on top. Short on the sides and in the back. Padawan braid firmly tucked behind his right ear. So far, so good.

The high forehead, okay, that was his.

Obi-Wan skipped the haunted, tired eyes and went straight to the cheekbones. They were more angular than he remembered, but his birthmark freckle still rested high on his right cheekbone. All right.

He started to check his nose, but his eyes caught his attention and he couldn't help but stare. Bluish-greyish, he thought, or bluish-greeny, depending on the light, but it was difficult to tell. Whatever color they had been, dark circles that suggested a lack of sleep or calcium or both, as the case was, now ringed their hollow depths in striking contrast to his white skin. Any emotion he'd experienced during his depression looked back at him from bluish-greyish-greeny eyes whose owner he wasn't sure he knew anymore.

_Force,_ he thought, gazing incredulously at his reflection, _anything anyone wanted to know, they could have seen in my eyes._

Obi-Wan managed to tear himself away from his haunted eyes, reminding himself fiercely that he'd chosen to fight and those eyes would disappear soon. Searching for somewhere to redirect his gaze, he quickly latched onto his lean frame, where another surprise awaited him.

_Wow_._ Ribs. _

Obi-Wan was somewhat startled to discover that over the past few months, his habit of skipping meals had certainly caught up with him. He didn't remember being quite so thin, nor could he recall being able to see so much of his rib cage before. Obi-Wan briefly considered wearing an extra tunic around his Master for awhile to keep him from worrying, but discarded the idea when he realized Qui-Gon had already seen him tunic-less after his suicide attempt nearly two weeks ago.

"Obi-Wan?? Are you coming for dinner?"

And there was one good thing about his Master seeing the new skinniness in his figure. Qui-Gon had given up on his abortive attempts to cook dinner – Obi-Wan usually cooked, but after their sparring practice he was too exhausted to poke around in the kitchen – and in an attempt to help Obi-Wan gain back some of the weight he'd shed, they had eaten out nearly every night. Some nights Master Depa cooked for them, and Master Mace Windu had offered once, but his invitation had been fervently declined and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan treated him to dinner out instead to ease any offense taken.

"Yes, I'm coming," he called back.

Obi-Wan dressed quickly and gave his reflection a last look. It would be some time before the hollowness of his eyes faded and his compact frame was rebuilt. He continued to be plagued by fatigue and the voice that whispered doubts was not silent, only muffled. And yet … behind the hollowness was a glint of determination.

He would fight. He was ready for the battles ahead and the long road home. It wasn't over, but he had begun.

He would choose strength over weakness, and he would succeed.

* * *

_Bought a ticket for a runaway train _

_Like a madman laughing at the rain_

_Little out of touch, little insane_

_It's just easier than dealing with the pain_

The End

_7/01_

_Syntyche_

Not meant to infringe on copyrights held by George Lucas, Lucasfilm, et al. I make no money off this story; it's purely a labor of love. Please ask before archiving elsewhere; I'll okay it, but I'd like to know where it's going. Feedback is as cherished and adored as Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. :-)


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